


One Of The Rats

by Bugsandburners



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Arc One Spoilers, Child Abuse, Explicit Language, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugsandburners/pseuds/Bugsandburners
Summary: Whether you believe in fate or not, you cannot deny the near story like instances that occur throughout the world. Br'aad and Sylnan Vengalor, the idiot brothers of the wharf are caught in Fate's web, this is simply the beginning of it all.some character studies and head-canons I figured I'd share While I work on other writings =)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter One: Fate

Whether you believe in fate or not, you cannot deny the near story like instances that occur throughout the world. There are a vast many impossibilities somehow made possible. A man getting struck by lightning, not once but twice, proclaimed dead while en route to the ER, just to come back and win the lottery a week later, for instance, seems entirely unreal and yet it happened. Some people reject fate, however, because they often have it used against them. A woman finds herself pregnant with a child and she can't remember the father's name nor face because she was drunk when he found her, now all of her family talks about how she must keep the child because fate decreed it. That then means that fate demanded horrid things from this poor woman for a child she never wanted, never expected, and never attempted to have. Others believe in fate, but not so completely. They'll find that they forgot to turn on their alarm and wake up late one morning so they are pressed to rush to work. Rushing isn't enough and unfortunately they miss their first bus and are forced to rush to the nearest next stop. It's there they meet them, someone who they don't know just yet but four or so years down the line, they marry. Little things out of place in order to guide us towards something we cannot see? Many believe that is fate. 

It was still dark out that morning. The sun had yet to rise. All that could be seen were ink black skies uninterrupted by a single cloud. The crashing of the distant waves could be heard just above the dull chime of church bells announcing the arrival of the new hour. Br'aad woke up only after their song was done and was none the wiser as to what time it was. All he knew was that it was too early to be a wake, or perhaps, it was too late. He huffed, neither pleased nor displeased with this as it meant he had plenty of time to fall back asleep still. If, of course, always if, sleep would come back for him. 

He could feel it tugging at the back of his mind, teasing him with incomprehensible nonsense. The door creaked open and he could hear the soft foot fall of his brother. A calloused hand ran it's way through his hair. 

"Hey, I have to go. I'll be back in time for breakfast." A kiss was placed upon his forehead and then the hand fell away from him, the footsteps receded, and the door creaked closed once more. 

Just like that the sleep was gone. All gone. That appeasing numbness of the abyss? Gone. The weight of his limbs keeping him grounded? Also gone. Br'aad was awake and very not happy about it. He sat up with a groan and rubbed the gunk out of his eyes. He felt around blindly hunting for his doll that he must have thrown some time during the night. Unable to feel it, he lit his bed-side candle and began to look about. 

There was a sliver of yellow and a splash of purple in the darkest recesses of the room. The small colors caught his eye and instinctively he turned to investigate. What seemed like tens of thousands tiny, gleaming eyes stared back at him, pupiless and empty. At first that didn't bother him. They were probably just the rats. But the more he stared the less he thought so. Rats eyes were large and all one color, usually white. They blinked in pairs. These didn't. No no see these all winked in and out of view with no real timing to it. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew that those weren't rats. 

As soon as he registered that thought, they vanished. Perhaps, he reasoned with himself, it was his mind toying with him. It was needlessly late, or early, he didn't know, and sleeplessness could do that to a person. 

Children, after all, can convince themselves of such silly things. It's their overactive imaginations. It wasn't uncommon to see a child bouncing from couch to foot rest in a desperate attempt to avoid touching the lava that had very suddenly flooded the floors. Just as it wasn't uncommon to see children fighting amongst one another in the streets playing army, using sticks as swords and pillows as shields. And it wasn't out of place to listen to a child go on and on about their encounter with that they called "the Red Stitched Monster" that had grabbed them, thrown them across the room giving them a scratch on their forehead and also killing them, but it's ok they came back alive, and then watching this monster vanish out the window. They would repeat this story word for word every time thoroughly convinced that it happened. If they could do that, then he could imagine the eyes. 

He plucked his doll up from off the ground and held it close, just in case he hadn't imaged the eyes. Typically he'd run to Sylnan's side, but Sylnan was gone for time being. Realizing just how alone he was, or worst case scenario wasn't, scared him more than he was willing to admit. He tugged at his blanket, uncertain if he should stay put and wait, either for Sylnan's eventual return or for the beast behind the eyes to come get him. 

There was a low chuckle, something that he almost missed and hoped he'd just imagined. That was the ticket that did him in. He chose life. 

He loved Sylnan very much. He knew that Sylnan left for good reason and meant well. He had to leave so he could put food on the proverbial table and clothes on his back, but his words were every bit as empty as the factory they both now called home. At some point, Sylnan had kept that promise. He'd come back with scraps of dried meat or some stale bread, the two would chat until noon before going out and seeing which poor fools they could con. It had been quite some time since Sylnan actually returned before noon these days. Sometimes he wouldn't return until late the next morning. There was no real way of knowing just how long Sylnan would be away for, so Br'aad would have no way of knowing how long he'd have to wait to be saved before whatever hid in the shadows decided to strike.

Cautiously, so as not to make a sound, he eased himself off of his cot onto the floor. He held the doll tight against his chest. If he could just make it over to the window he was certain he'd be safe. He waited, keeping watch of the shadows. He saw nothing but he could have sworn he could hear the faint, slow, distorted ticking of a great grandfather clock. It grew louder just a bit with every tick. Until, at last, it just stopped. 

Br'aad sprinted towards the window not at all a fan of whatever that was. He felt something snake around his ankle but it was unable to keep any sort of grip on him. He leapt out into the crumbling scaffolding along the outskirts of the factory. As fast as a fleeing rabbit he climbed down. He didn't take the time to watch for weak spots. If he fell he fell. Luckily he didn't. His bare feet hit the cold, rough, rock of the road and he took off running. He didn't dare glance back over his shoulder to see what it was his brain had conjured. He just wanted to be as far away from it as he could get. 

He stopped paying attention to which streets he turned down and which buildings he passed. He simply wanted to put as much distance between himself and that thing as possible. He only stopped when the air in his lungs felt more like fire, and his feet were bleeding and raw, his legs too weak to move him any further. He leaned against whatever building was closest and allowed himself time to remember how to breathe. 

He winced, lofting a foot to see what stabbed him this time. He plucked a shard of glass free from the arch of his foot and tossed it aside with a groan. Sylnan had promised that they'd go shoe "shopping" weeks ago. He tore a lengthy strip of the stomach of his shirt and began to patch himself up, something that was now habitual for him. He frowned, unsatisfied with his work but not sure how to improve upon it. He hoped he wouldn't get sick again. 

The only good thing he saw come out if this early morning run was the fact that it was, indeed, morning. The sun was just starting to peak up from the ocean that blanketed it. He doubted he'd ever be quite so happy to see a sunrise again. 

That joy was slashed almost instantly when an old, familiar, nasally voice rang out against the stillness of the morning.

"Well, if it ain't the pixie! Boys look who's back." 

Wendle! Crap where was he? He wasn't anywhere near the castle, nor the orphanage, so Wendle shouldn't be anywhere near him and yet there he stood in clothes much too small for him with two other goons at his side. He didn't recognize them. Only Wendle.

"Where's that bastard brother of yours? Not here to save you this time?" The kids began to spread out. There wasn't enough of them to completely corner him though that didn't stop them from trying. If he was fast he figured he could dart between Wendle and the kid on the left without issue. "Although I hardly consider getting his ass beat is the same as 'saving' you." 

It had been maybe a year since they'd last seen one another, a year and a half at most. Wendle was missing some of his teeth, it made him look a little like a rabbit. He'd lost some weight it seemed. He was dirtier than Br'aad remembered, with mud caked to the cuffs of his pants and smeared all along his ill fitting shirt. He looked sad. Angry almost. That was never a good thing.

"He's around so you better watch yourself." He didn't sound as confident as he'd hoped. Wendle seemed to have picked up on that but the other two hadn't. The kid laughed. 

"Is that so? The graveyard's quite a ways away, Br'aad. If he's over there crying for Mommy, I reckon it'll be about an hour before he makes his way back down here."

He wasn't sure how that was supposed to be an insult. Mourning the loss of a parent, or any loved one for that matter, was nothing to be ashamed of no matter how much time had passed. He did, however, understand the underlying threat. 

His heart was every bit as anxious as he was. It rampaged defiantly against the cage of his chest. He could feel it caught in his throat. He kept a steady eye on Wendle, ready to bolt at the smallest move. He hadn't seen the red headed boy.

"The pixie has a dolly!" He felt a tug and turned in time to watch the doll fly through the air in the hands of this new brat. The kid frowned at the make-shift elf ears, "an ugly doll."

He had to resist the urge to hide his own ears. Instead his hands flew to his mouth to muffle the gasp he made when the red head smashed the doll into the ground, sending it's head fifteen feet down the street and an arm eight feet in the other direction. He stared wide eyed at the remains of his only other companion, however lifeless, and felt his heart beat slow. The ticking was back. Still every bit as distorted and distant and droaning. For a second it felt as though all of time had stopped, but only for a second. 

It wasn't often that Br'aad got mad. He could get panicky and sad and a little too excited, but hardly ever mad. In that moment he wasn't mad. No. He was fucking seething. 

Without a second thought in his mind he dove towards the red headed little shit and tackled him to the ground. His fists flew wild and frantic, pelting the kid wherever he could, the nose, the eyes, the throat, his chest, everywhere. It wasn't long before Wendle and the other kid were trying to pull him back. 

Which was fine, that was their stupid mistake. 

To say that Br'aad had a lot of anger slowly bubbling and boiling up to this point was an understatement. Truth be told, Br'aad had been angry for a while now. He was angry about their living situation, angry that Sylnan had to cheat and lie and steal just so they could have some scraps not even the stray dogs would sniff. He was angry about how often Sylnan was gone, how long he would stay away for, and the broken promises of when he'd be back. He was angry that this punk just broke the one good thing he had from that god awful orphanage. He was angry that Wendle was back. He was angry about all the bruises he'd acquired in the past because of Wendle, because of his goons, because of his ears! He was angry! He was beyond angry! 

It wasn't long before the other two were able to force Br'aad onto the ground and repay him for the beating he'd just dealt out to the red head. Mistake number two as it only added fuel to the already raging fire. Br'aad couldn't remember a time where he fought back so hard. It took some struggling but he managed to shake the other kids off of him and was back up on his feet, swinging with the intent to harm, maybe even maim, whoever was unfortunate enough to be within his reach. 

"Hey! What do you kids think you're doing over there?" An adult screamed towards them. 

All at once the four fighting stopped, heads all snapping to see who it was interrupting their primal decimation of one another. One of them said "scatter" which one, Br'aad didn't know, but he wasn't about to just stand there. Everyone knew the gentleman approaching and absolutely no one wanted to get in bad with the goddamn baker. Except of course, Sylnan and Br'aad, who were the only successful kids to steal from him and get away, and very much terrified of getting caught. 

Br'aad stole one last glance at the broken doll before sprinting off down an alleyway he wasn't paying enough attention to. His only goal was to get away and he had about a 1/4th chance of being the one that the rotten, old Baker decided to follow. He dove out into a busy street and dared to glance back to see if he'd been lucky. He hadn't been. The Baker seemed to have recognized the small blond and was very much still trailing him. He let out a gargled shriek and found a new gust of wind beneath his feet. He wove his way through what little crowd he could find. 

Not certain if that was working and not willing to turn around and find out, he darted towards the nearest big, public access building to hide in. He was immediately met with another deafening silence. He glanced about, still startled, still enraged, still terrified of getting caught and dove to his left faster than he should have. 

He ran face first into the shoulder of a very startled gnome. She looked over him once, noted the fresh scrapes and bruises, his evident panic, and gently pulled him out of the way of others.

"Got into a fight did we?" She asked with a soft chuckle.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I'm no stranger, I'm a librarian. You talk to store clerks, don't you?"

Br'aad nodded, though he didn't have a clue as to what those words even meant. She offered a soft smile, "well I'm a store clerk for books. See? Not a stranger."

Well it didn't make too much sense but he wasn't about to argue. He didn't have the time. The bell rang, letting the other employees and patrons know of the arrival of a new arrival and Br'aad knew who it was even without looking. He tensed up, whimpering just a bit as he tried to push past the gnome to continue on his way. She wouldn't let him and that only worried him more. 

The gnome woman stepped between Br'aad and the Baker with the most intense scowl a person could make. The Baker, a man known for being cruel, merciless, and fearless stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of it. He kind of looked scared. 

"Now see here, sir, all acts of violence are to be dealt off of the property and I sincerely doubt how well the guards would take to the abuse of such a small child. Perhaps it's in your best interest to go home."

"But I-"

"No, sir, there is no room here to debate. If you do not leave my property within the next five seconds I will have you forcibly removed." She thrust a thumb behind her towards a half orc gentleman seated besides a small and cluttered desk. The gentleman, not accustomed to the librarian's shrill demands, was watching carefully and upon noticing her motion over towards him, rose to his towering 6' 7" height with a snarl. Be wasn't listening too well to the conversation, but he didn't have too, he just knew that he was supposed to look mean. 

The Baker stared at the gentleman, as if sizing him up and contemplating his chances. Apparently he didn't like them so much as he turned sharply on the heel of his boot with a huff. He stopped half way through the door, giving Br'aad one last hard glare before disappearing back out into the streets. 

Br'aad was astounded. He stared at the gnome, who was just about eye height for him, with admiration and respect and just a little bit afraid too. Her smile was gone. She looked just like the old woman who ran the orphanage for a moment, irritable and unkind. She took Br'aad by the wrist and dragged him over to sit across from the gentleman. 

"I'm not convinced that man came after you for no reason, which means you ought to be in trouble. You are to write 'I will not get into any more trouble today' ten times over." She set down a blank piece of parchment and with it a quill and some ink. 

Br'aad just stared down at them. His hesitation irked the gnome woman. "We'll get on with it. The faster you finish that, the faster you can return to playing with your friends." 

"I can't. I don't know how."

The woman sighed, not surprised. She looked towards the gentleman and sat down with a huff. "It seems that I've acquired another pupil. Right then. We'll start with names."


	2. Chapter Two: The Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse tw, a kid gets beaten with a belt

"There you are! I was starting to think you got cold feet." Ugarth leaned against a sign post that was starting to give beneath his weight. He took a second to study Sylnan, his crinkled face, his tense posture, how he trembled despite having a jacket and the lack of winds. 

There was talk around the guild about Ugarth. Some said he was too soft on the boy placed in his charge. He was told repeatedly that caring for others is the easiest way to get them killed. Get yourself killed too. His soft spot for Sylnan was a weakness, one of which he'd have to nip in the bud before it grew into a problem with no good solutions. 

Ugarth didn't have a soft spot, he simply had a partner who was too young to be tied up in all of this, too honest for his own good, too trusting of those around him, and too desperate to give himself boundaries. He was an easy target for so many people for so many reasons. Being the older of the two and more experienced, Ugarth saw that he had to protect Sylnan just enough until the kid was capable of surviving on his own. 

"Are you scared or cold?"

"I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Tough shit, that's all you're getting." 

Ugarth closed the space between the two of them and placed the back of his hand to Sylnan's cheeks. He scowled at his findings. The younger boy took a quick step back. He looked Ugarth dead in the eyes, stood up straight, and repeated himself. 

"I said I'm fine."

"You're sick as a dog! You aren't going to be much use to us at all like this. Go home-"

"What are you, my mother?"

Ugarth leaned over so that his face was barely an inch away from Sylnan's. A low growl clawed at the back of his throat that sent shivers down the kid's spine. 

"No. I'm the son of a bitch who got saddled with your sorry ass as a partner. I need you to have my back. I need you alive for that. Hold out your hands. Now, Sylnan!"

Sylnan flinched. It had been some time since someone had yelled at him like that. He hesitantly put his hands out in front of him, palms up. Ugarth flipped them over and gently guided his arms until they were all the way outstretched in front of him and raised a little bit higher. He watched the kid's hands with an ever growing look of disappointment. 

He grabbed Sylnan by the scruff of his jacket and began to drag him along despite Sylnan's stuttered protests. 

The wharf was still fast asleep, most of the street lamps had been blown out by the winds. No thanks to most of their glasses having been busted out by anyone with a stick long enough or sober enough to actually land a hit with a rock. Needless to say, it was darker than both boys would have preferred but not dark enough to make one or the other trip over any unseen debris. 

Sylnan, half dangling in Ugarth's hands, on the very fast path of getting strangled to death with his own oversized jacket, had a relatively decent line of sight for the entire length of the street. Because of this, he was able to see the hooded figure slowly emerge from the shadows and start to follow after them.

"Can we walk faster maybe?" He gasped. For a second he wasn't sure if Ugarth heard him until neither of his feet were able to touch the ground and the buildings started whizzing by. 

Sylnan kept his eyes on the figure. The pale moonlight caught something shiny and sharp and Sylnan was able to make out what he could have sworn was a barber's blade. The creature holding it, too tall to be a man, too short to be an orc or the likes of one, didn't seem to mind all too much about the change in pace. It was starting to catch up. It never had the chance to get to them completely, however, as Ugarth turned a corner and the two were met with three half drunk fellows piled outside a sewer grate. Ugarth dropped Sylnan, who wasn't expecting it and instantly crumpled to the ground, and began pushing the sewer grate aside with an awful clatter. Sylnan watched for a moment longer, waiting to see if the man with the barber's blade would join them. Before he could see for sure, Ugarth once again manhandled him up to his feet and began shoving him into the dark hallway, replacing the grate behind him.

Sylnan stumbled, struggling to keep up. Ugarth had yet to relent on his agonizing pace and Sylnan said nothing of it because it was his fault after all. To be perfectly honest, he didn't mind it too terribly much as he did want to put as much distance between them and the thing with the barber's blade as he could, doubting how useful that rusted old grate would be in the end.

They trotted on for a few minutes with no sight or sound of the potential threat now ages behind them. Sylnan began to relax a little. 

The longer they walked on for, the more he noticed the steady accumulation of rats. Nothing alarming, just slightly out of the ordinary. One, two, or even ten rats in a sewer is normal, they like to build their nests there, a sewer is ripe with insects to eat and filled with begotten goodies to stash. Sylnan lost count after the 65th. They all scurried out of their hiding holes and stood perfectly still, watching as the two passed them by. Slowly they'd start following for a short distance before scurrying away again only to be replaced with another batch of rats.

Ugarth pat Sylnan on the back, "They're curious. They're not yet certain if your food, friend, or foe," he explained. Sylnan didn't have the heart to say he doubted that very much. He knew who was watching behind those beady little eyes. 

There was a lot that Sylnan hated about the rat king. His giggling in the middle of the night, his ramblings, his constant singing, his hoards upon hoards of rats. Despite his slipping sanity, the rat king had one redeeming quality; he genuinely cared for the two boys who'd allowed him to stay with them. Not enough to help out with food foraging, not enough to try and bond with them, but enough to keep watch over them, make sure they were both safe. He liked to watch Sylnan the most. Br'aad was loud and mean. Sylnan was interesting, quiet, and accepting. He liked Sylnan. Sylnan hated that too. 

He didn't mind so much at the moment being watched though. He knew that should something happen, at least someone else would know. And the rats, by instinct, would start shrieking, letting him know when it was time to run. He simply hoped that he wouldn't have to. These tunnels were a lengthy labyrinth that he had yet to memorize and doubted if he'd ever be able to find his way through them on his own. He stayed as close as he could to Ugarth, terrified that the second he strayed just a bit, Ugarth would disappear down a hallway and Sylnan would be left alone and lost for all eternity. 

Eventually, Ugarth led him down a separate tunnel that branched off from the main one. This one led to a small opening, or rather a room. Sort of. Chains dangled from the walls, rusted and busted. The door was made of metal, thick and heavy and hanging off of it's hinges. It was a secret prison. At least at some point it had been. Time had forgotten it and later strangers repurposed it. A poorly made table was pushed against the far wall. Atop it, in a cluttered mess, stood several boxes of torn, bloodied clothes, small bells, belts, boots, gloves, hats, purses. Nothing at all worth taking and nothing anyone would want to be caught dead wearing. Across from it stood two training dummies. Sylnan remembered seeing hundreds of them in the castle walls, they were used mostly for the boy's during PE. Bigger, sturdier ones were used for training the guards. This one was adorned in an odd array of clothes, presumably from the box of discarded junk, and covered practically from top to bottom with the small bells. 

He turned to Ugarth confused but worried that if he spoke he'd get scolded. Ugarth liked scolding him. 

"You're here," Ugarth reminded, "because you got caught. But Brendan saw potential in you. He thinks you could be made useful. So prove it. In one of those pockets is a gold coin. Get it without making a sound. Get it without getting caught."

Sylnan stared at the decorated dummy dumbfounded. There was no way in the nine hells he could do that! There were too many bells to pay attention to, too many pockets. He looked towards Ugarth hoping he'd laugh and move on to show him what it was they were actually going to be doing, but the half orc teen stood stoic in the corner with half a belt gripped tight in his hands. 

"Get on with it, kid, I don't have all day!" 

Oh, shit. Ok. Uh. 

Sylnan struggled to understand the folds and flaps of the clothing half draped over the dummy, not sure what was a pocket and what wasn't. Panicking, he chose to go for a small slit near the left hip area. His fingers slid easily along the fake silk and dipped into a creavas. They touched something smooth and cold. He pinched ahold of it and slid his hand out only to hear the faint twinkle of the bells. 

Not even a second later did he hear the slap of leather snapping together. He turned towards it and found Ugarth walking over, arm raised, the belt flying through the air. He brought up an arm to protect himself from the blow but not nearly fast enough. He bit back a scream of pain as best he could.

"Try again." Ugarth ordered. 

Sylnan, still reeling from the strike that stung his side and part of his hip, couldn't do anything more than stare wide eyed at the half orc in bewilderment. He flinched when Ugarth moved, not bothering to waste time by muttering any apologies. Already he'd found another possible pocket and was now very careful with how his hands moved. He found nothing in this one. A second hit met his back and shoulders. 

"Again."

And again and again and again Sylnan tried and failed. Either coming out empty handed or bumping into more bells. And after each failure he received another strike. His chest was red with welts from where the belt buckle caught itself on his skin. His left arm was bleeding. He couldn't twist around without his back crying out. His hands were shaking and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get them to stop. By now he was sure he'd checked every last crevasse and pocket the damn thing had. 

"Don't watch me, pay attention to what your hands are doing," Ugarth warned for a third time. 

It didn't matter if he watched his hands, they never did what he needed them to and they were only getting worse. He inched away from the threat still stood by the table, belt still gripped too tightly in his hands. He pulled his homemade shank free from his own pocket. The shard of glass wrapped with fabric to make a sort of hilt was something to laugh at but it did the trick in a pinch. He worked it into one of the flaps and began to slowly slice away at the cloth. His eyes shot wide when it snagged on something heavy and small. He held out his free hand and guided the trinket towards the hole he'd made for it. The gold coin toppled into his palm. He carefully slid his shiv back home safe in his pocket, careful so as not to stab himself with it. 

He tossed the coin at Ugarth's feet. Part of him expected the half orc to hit him again. He didn't. Ugarth bent down and plucked the coin up from the slimy stone. A smile cracked his dried lips.

"There you go kid, that's the ticket." He set the belt down on the table. "Hold out your hands." 

Sylnan winced, struggling to find a way to keep his arms outstretched without irritating any of his new scrapes and cuts. Ugarth frowned at the slight tremble that ran all throughout the kid's body. 

"Cold or scared?" He asked again. 

"I'm fine," Sylnan bit back hoping the squeak in his voice didn't give him away too bad.

Ugarth chuckled, "You survive an encounter with our guild leader and you're scared of a silly old belt. You're a walking contradiction." 

He took one of Sylnan's hands and held it straight up, twisting him about and looking him over. "Don't give me that look, I went easy on ya. I didn't get your hands and I didn't get your face. I certainly didn't hit you nearly as hard as I got hit when I first started either. You look fine. You'll be sore for a bit but you're alright." He repeated that last little montra for a bit, easing Sylnan through some stretches that were meant to keep his muscles from knotting and help with the pain. 

Ugarth then saw what the others saw. He was, infact, soft on the boy. Not because he liked him. Not because of how young he was. But because he understood him. He knew exactly where Sylnan's head was at. He was scared, uncertain, and determined. Ugarth would have given anything to have someone to rely on, someone to actually show him the ropes, someone who cared enough to teach him the hard way without ever actually putting him in harm's way. He might be soft on Sylnan. At least he wasn't a hard ass. 

"Come on then, this way."

With that he led the boy back into the series of winding tunnels hidden beneath the city. Though neither could see it, both knew that the sun had begun it's climb across the sky, and the city trapped beneath it was finally starting to come back to life. The boys would not get to see that just yet. They traveled through a river of darkness, aided by scattered lantern light. 

They two said not a word to one another except for Ugarth's occasional, "Walk lightly. Keep your weight on the back leg, step with your toes first and ease onto the ball of your heel. Walk in the outer edges of your feet. There you go, just like that." Or perhaps he'd say, "Pay close attention to what you hear. Memorize the sounds around you, those that should be there, and those that ought not to be." 

Sylnan took what Ugarth said to heart. He focused on his walking until muscle memory took over for him. From there he was able to concentrate on the noises. It was all very much the same atmospheric bulkshit he expected to find. He heard the skittering of rats, their squeaks and squeals. There was the occasional droplet of water joining an even larger puddle with a satisfying plink sound. What he found odd was the soft murmur of distant conversations. He could hear laughter, arguing, shouting, singing. He looked up at Ugarth for any sort of explanation or to see if he heard it too. Ugarth didn't say anything. He just kept walking. Obediently, Sylnan followed, growing more nervous with each step. 

From the empty darkness sprouted a large dwelling. It looked as though at some point this had been a conjunctions where six or seven pipes all came together in this bifurcate of the sewers to wind and weave their own new separate ways, all connected at the neck in this one joint. Now there stood a questionably put together pub of sorts. It astounded Sylnan the sorts of things the city didn't know about thriving just beneath it's very own feet. Moreover he was shocked to see just how much shit could be stashed away inside of a fucking sewer. 

Ugarth pushed him inside, using his shoulders to steer him around the bustling crowd of the thieves den. He dropped him off at an empty booth before disappearing into the rioting crowd. 

Sylnan was suddenly very aware of how small he was comparatively, right up until he spotted a handful of goblins, then he was just aware of how young he was. He watched the patrons of the bar every bit as untrusting of them as they were of him. His hand fell to his hip, catching the hilt of his shank and gripping it tight. He was small. He lacked the strength that these men had in spades. He doubted his stupid little shank would help him much but it was better than nothing at all. Lingering eyes only tore themselves away when Ugarth returned with a small platter of dried meats and steamed vegetables. 

"Eat. You look faint."

"I'm fine."

"I'm not asking. You need strength to keep those hands of yours steady. Eat."

Sylnan tried to meet Ugarths eyes to challenge him. In these parts weakness wasn't tolerated, he figured that one out quickly. Unfortunately, Sylnan had yet to figure out the difference between weakness and stubbornness. That was fine. Ugarth was no stranger to this sort of behavior, especially with Sylnan, and knew how to fix it instantly. He pinned Sylnan's visible arm to the table with one hand, took up the fork with some….what was that cauliflower, broccoli? Who knows, but whatever it was it was on the fork and that fork went right into Sylnan's closed lips. The sharp metal stabbed him and in shock he opened right up and down the hatch the soggy, mystery veggies went!

"Are you really going to make me force feed you in front of all these nice people?" He asked shortly after the fact. 

Sylnan shoved Ugarth's hand away, fork still partially lodged down his throat, and choked. He had to fight back the urge to gag lest it trigger the return of last night's supper, and muttered his new favorite curse word. One of which instantly got him hit. 

"Don't you go around calling people that! Kids your age ain't got no mind for all that mess." 

"Sorry."

"No you ain't, now eat."

He did. Though he filled up on guilt long before he did the food provided. He felt bad knowing that it was breakfast time, he was eating, and Br'aad was at home, hungry and alone. He'd have to make up for that somehow.


	3. Chapter Three: Strange Magic

Learning how to read and write was not how Br'aad thought his day would be spent and yet there he was, still in the library, sat across from a dapper young half orc, beside a cranky little gnome woman, writing ten times over the words "I will not get into any more trouble today." Which was a lie. The only break he got from writing, be it his name, that montra, or simple sentences, was when the gnome librarian gave both boys a small tray of assorted nuts, berries, and crackers for lunch. 

And while not fond of admitting it, Br'aad did enjoy writing and reading. A lot. More than he anticipated. He remembered, with great clarity, the other boys in the orphanage detested school. They complained endlessly about how tiring the work was, how dull and pointless. But Br'aad found it exhilarating opening a book, recognizing the letters, and discovering what the words he said aloud looked like written down. 

His favorite was Elvish. The letters were pretty, looping and swaying like the waves. It looked how it sounded; like a dance. It was a much more rigorous language to learn for certain, but seeing his name written out in the language that Sylnan first taught him, in the language of the reason behind the other kid's cruelty, in his language, gave him a sense of accomplishment. It filled him with pride. 

The librarian was taken aback by Br'aad's eagerness to keep going with his lesson. He learned quickly, focused on what he was doing, and listened intently. Most children she met preferred books with pictures and dreaded the thought if actually having to read. This one was strange. Deprived and desperate. She hoped one day to have a child with that same drive, same yearning to learn. For now she was more than happy to supply this one with more books to read and more sentences to write. 

After hours of silently working on his own, he slowly crept over to her desk. "Miss? Would it be ok if I came back and did this again tomorrow?"

She smiled at him. "Sweet heart, the whole purpose of a library is so that you can do exactly that. And whatever I cannot reach to you, they can." Br'aad looked over her shoulder to see who she was talking about and found only the endless array of shelves and the books they upheld. He looked back at her, puzzled to an absurd degree. He didn't ask any other questions, he figured that the hour was growing late and it was best that he get home just in case Sylnan was also on his way back. She stopped him from getting too far.

"You can take a couple home, if you'd like. You just have to promise to bring them back." 

Again he turned towards her, even more confused than he'd been moments ago. He was pretty sure taking strangers, even if they were librarians, store clerks for books, home was not the best idea for a number of reasons. 

"The books, sweet heart," the librarian clarified, smothering a laugh that bubbled in her throat. 

"Oh. Oh! I can? How many?"

"I'll let you take home three. Now you can't rip any of their pages, lose them, or get them messy, or I won't let you take any more home ever again, understand?" 

He nodded frantically before sprinting off to find three books to take home. He didn't particularly care which books, he had no reference for them, so he picked three at random. He couldn't wait to show Sylnan!

Oh shit Sylnan.

Sylnan had given Br'aad a few rules that Br'aad had to follow. Simple rules, rules he had hoped would keep Br'aad out of trouble and safe. Rules like, br'aad wasn't allowed near the thieve's den, ever. Or Br'aad wasn't to go near the city alone, ever. Or Br'aad wasn't to play in the ocean alone, ever. Or Br'aad was to stay inside the factory and wait for Sylnan to come back, for the love of the gods, just stay put!

They were simple rules, were they not? Fair rules, he thought, that had been put into place because Br'aad was very good at finding reasons for needing such rules. Or because the jobs Sylnan worked made him very afraid of leaving Br'aad alone when he knew what kind of people were out there waiting for him. Either or. Mostly it was because of Br'aad but still. 

Br'aad knew that coming home with these three books and showing them to Sylnan was like bringing home proof that not only did he break Sylnan's rules, but planned on breaking them again very soon. No, perhaps it was best Sylnan didn't know. If Sylnan could keep secrets, then Br'aad figured it was ok that he start keeping some of his own. 

The budding bruises on his arms and knees might be a bit harder to hide. He'd worry about that later. He looked around for any sign of The Baker, Wendle, or his goons. Finding only a bustling street of mostly adults he didn't recognize, Br'aad figured he was safe and he began walking without a second thought about that. He also didn't have a second thought as to where it was he was going. Not because he didn't care, but because he'd opened one of his cool new books and was already reading it. He didn't notice when he walked past the street he should have turned down, not then, not for another block, or the next six blocks after that. He made a left when he felt like he'd been walking straight for too long and eased whatever worries began to pop into the back of his head with the thought that the wharf was made up of roads that all ran right back into one another eventually. If he kept going, he'd find another familiar road and he'd be home in no time.

The marketplace was alive! He could hear merchants hollering about their products and prices from every which way. Lively conversations could be found just about everywhere. Three girls sat out in front of a boarded up building, one sang a lovey tune while her sisters banged away on a drum or killed it on a viola. Occasionally, someone would add some coins to the small collection gathering in the small hat placed at their feet. Br'aad watched them for a bit at a distance, scared that if he got too close then they'd ask him for coin, which he did not have. They sounded pretty though. He wouldn't mind doing stuff like that. 

He made his way through the marketplace, careful so as not to be seen by the Baker just down the street. He smiled, finally knowing where exactly it was he was at and remembering which way was home from there. He tucked his books under his arm and marveled at all the signs and shop headers he could now understand. Partially. Some were still unfamiliar. 

"Watch it!" A man shouted seconds before both fell to the ground along with a barrel of potatoes. He scrambled to make sure his books were ok and sighed upon discovering that he took the brunt of the fall and not them. A hand caught his wrist and yanked him back up to his feet.

"You've got some nerve loitering about in a place of business boy. Get you gone, now, you've done enough damage!" 

"Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix mistakes, boy!" 

"Madrid! Heavens be heard, you've got no reason to be so grumpy, the kid said he was sorry. Here, look, your potatoes are all fine and accounted for. There, ain't no use crying over spilt milk now is there?"

"Fuck you!"

"No thank you, Madrid, we're close but not that close." 

The man was a short one, dressed up all kinds of funny. He wore a hat with three points and dangling off of each was a little golden bell that jingled as he walked. Or maybe the jingling came for the bells at the tips of his shoes. Or perhaps it came from the bells that hung off the zig zagging hemline of his multicolored tunic. His pants were equally as mismatched, though inverted. One pant leg had been torn just above the knee. For whatever reason, the sir had tied the lost portion of his pants around his ankle. 

Madrid mumbled some choice words best left unrepeated, snatched up the last of his potatoes, and hobbled his way down the street. Satisfied, the clown gave Br'aad a friendly wave before cartwheeling back towards an outlandishly colored tent made up of mostly sheets. 

Forget music! Br'aad wanted to know what he had to do to be welcomed into that wild world. The tent was absolutely thriving with people all similarly dressed as the clown. One woman was folding herself into shapes people probably should never be able to ever make, another was quite content swallowing mouthfulls of fire while a man with a startling scar across his face was swallowing a sword like it was a goddamn noodle. There was a pair of others attached at the hip juggling knives back to the other. 

The colors, the talent, the action, the constant yet controlled chaos, Br'aad loved it! He held on tight to his books and sprinted across the street, overflowing with questions and dying for answers. The cartwheeling clown looked up and laughed seeing this doofy little kid do this gay little run with just the biggest smile on his face. 

"What have we here now? Looking to get yelled at by more people are we?"

"Maybe! How can she eat fire? Is she a dragon? How is he not dead from eating that sword? And where are her bones? Why doesn't she have bones?!" 

The small patrons of the even smaller carnival giggled at the questions, most of which they'd all heard about a thousand times over. The clown knelt down, making himself eye level with the inquisitive child before him. He ruffled Br'aad's golden hair with a wink.

"Magic." 

"Magic isn't real, it's just something grownups put in kids stories to spook them," Br'aad explained, quoting the old woman who ran the orphanage word for word, having heard it too many times to count. The clown frowned.

"That's not true at all. There's a little bit of magic in everything. Why, where I come from, there's cities that float, roads that go up all on their own, people who can walk on water, people who can turn into lions and tiger and beasts of all kinds!" 

He pointed to one of the book's in Br'aad's arms, "I see you're a reader. I'm sure even in a place as magicless as this has books on magic. I bet you four copper that the library has an entire section dedicated to it."

Br'aad's jaw dropped. He'd only ever heard magic get talked about as the stuff that made bad children get tuened into donkeys who'd be forced to walk for days and days carrying heavy luggage for mean riders. That sort of stuff. 

"So her bones are magic?"

The clown looked over towards the contortionist. He was quiet for a moment, turning over his answer carefully in his head. At last he smacked his lips and gave a firm, "Yes." 

Braad looked down at his books, the gears in his head turning with all their might. If magic was real and could take people's bones, then maybe it could make food appear, and clean water, and maybe even build a shelter. Then Sylnan wouldn't have to steal from people, they wouldn't have to boil their water, they wouldn't be stuck in that stupid fucking factory. If magic could let that woman eat fire and that man swallow swords and both be fine, then magic could sure as shit help them live better lives and books were where all of the how-to nonsense lived and he was welcomed back to that home of all books and he could read and understand them! The solution to all of their problems was in his tiny hands, he just had to find it. 

"You want to know what else is magic?"

"What?"

"Wearing shoes so you don't step on a rusted nail and die to tetanus. Wait here." 

Br'aad frowned at that. That didn't sound like magic. That just sounded like wearing shoes. And what the fuck was a tetanus? The thought was forgotten as quickly as it formed. He turned to the contortionist.

"Does it hurt when you magic your bones away?" 

She didn't answer him. She just laughed. Chortled really. Snorted? She laughed. Before she could get herself together, the clown returned and in his hands was a pair of shoes every bit as curly and pointy at the end as his, though the bells were missing. 

"These might be a bit too big for you yet, but the nice thing about that is you can just stuff them a little now and you can grow into them later." 

Br'aad had learned a lot in just one day. He'd learned how to write his own name in two different languages, learned how to read simple texts, learned that that bitch was wrong about magic, but above all he learned that Sylnan was being a bit paranoid with that whole don't trust strangers thing. After all, he'd been saved by the nice Librarian, taught by the gentle half orc man, and now taught by this clown. Strangers were pretty ok, he figured. Maybe not the baker, and not the potato man named Madrid though. They must have been the bad apples of the bushel. Everyone else was pretty ok. And that made him happy. 

He thanked the clown before remembering he was supposed to be going home. The clown was right about one thing, the shoes were too big. That was ok, too. He liked the way they flopped about when he walked. Walk is the wrong word. Tread. Staggered? There isn't really a word for it, but walking certainly wasn't it. 

Not even close. 

He made it home without any other issues to delay him, save for maybe tripping over himself eighteen times. Aside from some scraped knees and palms, he was ok. It didn't take him too long to figure out how to...dance...no still not quite right….in the giant shoes. The hardest part was climbing back up the scaffolding with the books and awkwardly fitting shoes. 

"I'm home!" He called out. His own voice answered him back. It was long after lunch now and Sylnan was still away. So much for back it time for breakfast. Suddenly he didn't feel so guilty about eating those berries, crackers, and assorted nuts.


	4. Chapter Four: Poetry In Motion

Ugarth once again pressed the back of his hand to Sylnan's forehead, moving them down to his cheeks. Again he told Sylnan to hold out his hands. It amazed him, really, how even when shaking scared, or shaking against the chills brought on by a fever, or shaking from pain, those hands were always as still as statues. He couldn't help but imagine the kid armed with some lock picks. Oh what wonders could they uncover! What treasures could they snatch!

Unfortunately, that fever of his wasn't breaking. It was getting worse by the hour. The kid was being a champ about it. He'd yet to complain about how cold he was, or groan, or make it obvious that he was freezing aside from his shivers. He was, however, wheezing a bit. Nothing too noticable, at least not until they had to go uphill. 

"You holding up ok?"

"Im fine."

"Stop fucking saying that."

Sylnan blinked, biting back a smart ass comment knowing that it would only get him smacked. Truth of the matter was he was exhausted. There was a dull throbbing just behind his eyes that reverberated in the furthest depths of his ears. He could feel a building pressure in his nose that he couldn't sniffle away. His entire body was stiff and sore and the earlier beating he'd received didn't help that in the slightest bit. Worst of all he was dizzy. Not enough to see double like that time one of the grounds-keepers caught him in the pantry, accused him of trying to steal away with the whiskey, and as punishment made him drink the rest of the bottle. Luckily there wasn't a whole lot left but it was certainly too much for an eight year old. Still. He wasn't that dizzy. Not yet.

"Pay attention then. Look at that crowd. Who would you pick pocket?"

Sylnan sighed. He was careful not to get too close to the storm drain so those walking just out of reach wouldn't be able to see, nor hear him. His vantage point wasn't too good. He could hardly see any faces. From what he could see, there was a potato vendor nearby bitching about a clown and rotten kids. Not too terribly far from him was a small traveling carnival all talking amongst one another with goofy grins, beyond them in front of a boarded up building was a group of sisters playing a lazy little diddy, and down the street a few shops was the Baker. His eyes stayed glued in that shop for a moment.

Just a little over a year ago, he and Br'aad had waited around the corner, not far from where he now hid. Br'aad had whipped up some big ol' tears and ran to the Baker with this whiny little cry. He began blubbering about how he was lost and couldn't find his mom. While the Baker began asking questions, "where'd you see her last? What's she look like?" Sylnan snuck over and plucked a loaf of steaming bread right off of it's tray in the window sill. He was certain that they'd get away, clean and easy, but then he heard a shout from inside. A young girl popped her head out the window and chucked a still warm oven mit at his head, which then alerted the Baker. 

At that point, Sylnan panicked. He shouted a quick, "Run, Br'aad!" Before bolting down the street. He turned, expecting to see the Baker hot on his heel and was startled to find that girl instead. She threw the matching oven mit at him, this time missing, and began shouting. He remembered she was fast, faster than he was. He only got away because he was able to turn corners better than she could and lost her in the many stalls of the marketplace. He found Br'aad hiding over by the candle maker and both boys ran home with their well earned prize. Free to steal some other day!

But it wasn't that precious memory that held his attention so tight on the bakery. It was the girl. She had her hair tied up in a messy bun. The sun had bleached it and painted her freckled cheeks a painful red. She was busy rotating out some rolls, putting the older ones up front and the fresh ones closer to the back. When she was done, she took up her tray, pressed a quick kiss to her father's temple, and vanished back inside. 

"Sylnan!"

"I'm looking, hold on!"

He turned his attention back to the crowd. "There's some folks standing between the musicians and the," he paused alarmed by how quickly the breath in his lungs had left him and struggled to draw more in to replace it, "and the florist. It's a decent crowd. Do you see it?"

"Yeah. Who you thinking? The woman with the tall hat? The short dude near the singer?"

"Do you see the man flirting with the florist? Him."

"But he's being watched."

"No, look at her. She wants him to leave her alone, she isn't acknowledging anything he says. Even if she did see us, she wouldn't snitch."

Ugarth humphed. Not the person he would have gone for but not a bad target either. He took Sylnan's wrist and deposited two little bells into his palm. Both knew they would serve Sylnan next to no purpose, they were there only to act as tiny reminders. He hated them. 

"Go for it then." 

Without wasting any more time, Sylnan squeezed his way through the nearest sewer grate now very understanding of why it was his job to do the pick pocketing. Ugarth was too broad to fit through those and moving them would make too much noise. He stumbled and had to catch himself on the wall. He struggled to muffle the coughing fit that quickly followed. Ugarth watched, worrying the palm of his hand with his nails. 

The kid was going to get caught, he just knew it. 

For a moment, he was unable to move. He was unable to see. The pounding in his head was louder than the shrill cries of the viola and the shrieking voice of the songstress and the hammering of the drums. Every breath he took felt as though it was weighted down. Like he was inhaling water and spitting back up flour. He heard the faint jingling of some bells and his back lit ablaze with a sting too familiar to be imagined but phantom all the same. He looked back up and focused on his target. Quickly he straightened himself out, tucking the bells in his hand away in his pocket besides his shank. 

He moved with grace across the market space. At first glance, he just looked pale and tired. Ugarth knew better. He watched with bated breath as the child neared the flirting man at the florist stand. Sylnan called the florist over gently. She looked absolutely thrilled to have an excuse to ignore the man who still stood near her petunias. 

"How might I help you today, my fine young lad?"

The trick to a successful pickpocket is the distraction. The trick to a successful distraction is limiting one's lies. It's easier to tell a true story by heart than a fib, and when one is trying to snatch the coin purse from the waist of a fool, one wants their focus on that, and not on remembering lies. 

"Well there's this girl I like. I don't think she likes me very much anymore though. I made her mad you see. I can't undo what I've done and I know that. I want to say sorry." Simple enough. 

The florist beamed. It wasn't often she got such requests. Usually the boys that came around her booth wanted flowers to hide the fact that they'd been knocking boots with the milk maiden and we're now guilt laden, or they wanted to get more flowers to win the approval of the girl who very clearly couldn't care less about them.

She turned her back to both boys. The man was pleased with this as it gave him the perfect view of the flourist's ass, to put it bluntly. That was Sylnan's opening. The coin pouch was out in the open, hanging just off the hip. Sylnan knew better than to just swipe it as the man would surely notice the weight change. He could fix that. He stood on the tips of his toes, pretending like he was just as interested in the flowers as the girl was and just wanted to see them better. He let his foot slip and whoopsie doopsie he fell into the man!

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" He muttered, pulling himself back up to his feet and in the process, untying the thin strip of leather that held the pouch up. It fell into his expecting hand and slipped away nice and easy into his jacket pocket. Any noise made was smothered by the mix of the man's curses and his own false apologies. 

"Fucking brat," the man grumbled, giving Sylnan a shove. The woman turned back around at the first sounds of the kerfuffle and quickly moved to shoo the man away, insisting that her booth was for patrons of the well mannered sorts. 

Ugarth snickered at the sight. The kid was clever. A bit dramatic, but clever. He was starting to see what Brendan had seen. 

The man left with a huff, leaving Sylnan alone with the florist who then produced several flowers for him to choose from. 

"Blue Hyacinths, pink Carnations, and pink roses all say sorry. Now the rose might be a bit romantic still, easily misunderstood, and the hyacinths might be a bit serious. Carnations are more for an 'oops I forgot your birthday' sort of sorry." 

Sylnan looked at the provided flowers and grinned. He pointed to the hyacinths, "How much for one of those?" 

"Usually three copper but since you've been the sweetest customer I've had all day, I'll give you a discount; one copper sweetpea."

Oh, easy enough. He placed the coin on the table with the best "Thank you!" He could muster. She handed him the flower with a soft smile. 

Ugarth was indeed pleased with the transaction. He rushed over towards the grate to welcome back the mighty hunter. They shuffled back into the shadows of the storm drain, letting only the smallest bit of light from the outside world to illuminate them. Sylnan emptied the coin purse out onto the ground and Ugarth quickly took to counting it all. He slapped Sylnan on the back in congratulations, "We got 27 silver pieces a piece and 48 copper and," he paused for dramatic effects before dumping Sylnan's share into his steady, cupped hands, "two gold pieces."

"But there were only three gold pieces."

"You did the thieving, you get the extra piece. I'll manage, kid. Now let's get you home-"

"Not yet. Not just yet. I need to get him something to eat first." Sylnan stashed his coins away and slipped back out into the open.

"Get who something to eat? Sylnan? Sylnan!" Get back here!"

He hadn't had so much money in his entire life. Part of him wanted to splurge, buy everything he could ever want and more. He knew better. He knew it wouldn't last, he knew it wouldn't always be so easy to get. He knew he needed to be smart about things. A small meal, something to make up for the lack of them for the last few days. Something easy to carry, something the track through the sewers wouldn't ruin. He could make a stew perhaps, a vegetable stew. He doubted he'd be able to afford any decent meat and he really wasn't up for hunting today. But then again vegtables were a bit much too. He wasn't so sure traveling with an armful of groceries was a good idea. He figured he had time to figure all that out, he had a flower, named something he couldn't fucking pronounce and wasn't about to try, and he intended to leave it somewhere where the girl very capable of kicking his ass could very well find it. 

He figured the windowsill where he first snatched the bread would be a good spot. Poetic almost. He waited until the baker had his back turned before darting over. There was nothing set out to cool today, not yet at least. He hoped to be quick about it, place the flower and go. 

"What are you doing?"

He jumped half a mile into the air. He landed as smoothly as a cat might and stared up at the girl half hanging out of the window. Her messy bun was already falling apart and she did her best to tuck the stray strands behind her ear. 

"Nothing bad," Sylnan stuttered quickly only seconds after realizing how maybe those were not the best words to say. He held up the flower in a wild attempt to explain himself with it and found himself completely unable to get any other actual words out. He held it there, silent, defeated. She was unamused to say in the least. 

"I know you, don't I?" 

"Uh...yeah. I live nearby and so I shop here a lot also-too. Yeah. Yep." Good job Sylnan. Real smooth. 

"That's not it," she growled slowly, "You're the one who stole the bread from the window sill! You sneaky bitch! Come back for a second? Thought you could do it again, did you?"

"No! I came to flower- no I flower sorry- shit wrong! I came to…" he gave up and once more held up the flower. 

She scoffed, "You steal from us a year ago and come back with a fucking flower? Are you serious?"

"A kid's gotta eat!"

"And to eat you gotta pay, that's how this whole thing works!"

"That's why I'm saying sorry!"

"With a stupid flower!? You think a flower a year later is gonna make up for what you did?"

"What else will?" He was quiet again, his voice barely getting above that of a harsh whisper. Mostly because he had another coughing fit threatening to attack at any second and he was fighting like hell to swallow it down. But also because he had next to no idea what else he could have done to say sorry. 

She calmed down too. She looked the boy up and down and grinned, "How much you got on you?"

"Not enough to buy bread apparently."

That made her laugh. Sylnan nearly dropped the flower at the sound of it. 

There are a trillion different poems that could perfectly describe the thoughts running through Sylnan's head. Half a billion metaphors, all of them over used and yet not used often enough it would seem. To put it into perspective, all at once Sylnan forgot absolutely everything, his name, where he was, what he was doing. He felt like he was floating and at the same time he felt all too heavy. He was dizzy again but a good dizzy. And for whatever reason he felt really, really embarrassed. He looked down at his feet, unable to meet her eyes anymore. 

She reached down, plucking the flower from his limp hand and giving it a sniff. "I suppose this will do for now then." She said with a sigh. "Thank you." 

Still unable to find his voice and still unable to meet her gaze, Sylnan nodded, bashful and unreasonably afraid. He took off before she could get another word out. 

Kathrine watched him flee while spinning the flower between her fingers. What an odd boy. She hoped to see him again.


	5. Chapter Five: In This House

"I'm home!" Br'aad looked up from his book with an annoyed moan. He slid a thin strip of cloth between the pages he'd been reading and hid the book with the two others and his shoes. He rushed to fix his bed a bit and make it look like he'd been playing in his room all day. Instinctively he reached for his doll-

Oh, right. His doll. 

Sylnan pushed open the door with a soft knock. He peeked inside with a shy smile, "you awake?"

"Yes!" Br'aad jumped across the room to welcome Sylnan back and froze when he spotted the swollen bruises and welts scattered across his arms. "What happened to you?"

"Couldn't stop jingling the fucking bells. Why are you bruised?"

"Stepped on a rat while going down stairs and fell. Twice. Sylnan, I know he needs help like is but he is," Br'aad lowered his voice a bit just in case the rat king was listening, "well he's just the worst." 

Sylnan didn't completely buy it but he wasn't about to argue either. He quickly looked his baby brother over to make sure there wasn't any serious damage before tussling his hair. "You hungry?"

"You brought breakfast?"

"Always, I said I would. Come on now I bet you're starving."

He would have been had he not been given something back at the library. The sun was already starting to set. Still he could eat, he was a growing boy, he was always hungry. He followed Sylnan not too unlike a puppy. Damn near tripped them both going down the stairs. Were it not for Sylnan's oddly tuned reflexes and Br'aad's strange flexibility, both would have wound up in a heap of limbs on the floor in unequal amounts of pain. Br'aad laughed in delight at the near mishap, pleased that they'd avoided it mostly, and raced Sylnan the rest of the way down the stairs. He watched as his older brother slowly hobbled over, making small faces of pain with every other step he took. Part of him hurt too. 

Sylnan took Br'aad's hand and led him over to the propped up plywood they called a table. Br'aad anxiously sat down, watching Sylnan with a growing excitement.

"How'd you do it?"

"What did I say?"

"No stories till we're both seated?"

"Why can't you ever remember that?"

Br'aad draped himself over the table with a huff, "because that means more waiting."

"I know buddy, I'm sorry." 

Br'aad frowned at that. If he was sorry then he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't take off for hours at a time and pretend that everything's ok just because he called their only meal breakfast. As much as he wanted to say it he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to start their night with a fight. He never won those anyway. The silence between them was charged, both of them knew it. Neither has the guts to try and break it, and it only grew worse. Br'aad took the time to observe his brother, the way his hands would float from cupboard to cupboard and dance along the wood every bit as elegant as the elven letters that filled his books. He watched the way Sylnan paced, never staying in one spot for long and easily avoiding the weaker points in the flooring. Toes first. Odd. He moved seamlessly, without ever making a sound. It uneased Br'aad to some extent. He couldn't figure out why. 

Sylnan set two plates down on the table. Upon them was a mess of noodles, puffy and square shaped. Br'aad squinted at them before shifting his disgusted glare towards Sylnan.

"What is this?"

"Ravioli. It's pasta with a surprise in it." Br'aad made a face and hesitantly picked up his fork. He knew better than to be picky, but it really did look like someone who'd never seen a fish, was told what fish were and tried to copy it but worse somehow. He picked one up with a shudder. It was slimy. Why was it slimy? He looked back at Sylnan again, almost begging him to say "haha just kidding" and bring out their real dinner. He didn't. He swallowed thickly and owly moved the "ravioli" towards his mouth. 

It wasn't bad. Not bad at all. Hot, hotter than he was expecting, but not bad. Good actually. He fought to chew without burning the roof of his mouth with each bite, too impatient to let it cool. 

"Slow down or you'll choke." 

That was a risk Br'aad was willing to take!

Between bites he once again asked if Sylnan had to fight someone, something that took several tries as he had to be reminded not to talk with his mouth full about three consecutive times. 

Sylnan slouched a bit, toying with his own dinner while his stomach turned itself over and inside out. He really just wanted to go to bed. But he'd missed Br'aad and felt bad for how long he'd been away for. 

"None of the street lamps were lit," he began, settling into his usual storyteller voice despite the hoarseness of his throat, "The smog of the city was as thick as mud, too thick to let the pale moonlight through. The shadows that roamed the streets were more alive than the people who roamed during the day. The only other living being out and about was a man with a face riddles with scars. He was as tall as a barn and as broad as a- no, not your name, we've been over this- train." 

Br'aad finished with his dinner faster than he'd hoped. Without thought or hesitation, Sylnan slid his plate across the table. 

"He sized me up from afar. He wouldn't dare try anything, even if he did, I was ready." He patted his side where the make-shift shiv still resided along with two small, silver bells and a small collection of copper coins. "We've got work to do, he said. And he began to lead me deeper into the heart of the city. The only company we kept was each other and neither of us liked it one bit. We were also wrong. We weren't as alone as we thought. Following us, maybe fifty feet back, was a man so ugly it could make bridge trolls puke."

"Ew!"

"He slithered down the road, sneaking closer and closer. His blood shot eyes remained ever trained on our backs," he stopped. That was still odd to him. The man had been Pershing them, he'd gathered that much. But he never once looked at Sylnan. He had his eyes fixed directly on Ugarth. Why? "He flashed his yellow teeth in a grotesque grin and in his hand he held a blade sharper than shit. He was gaining on us.

Panicked, Br'aad looked for any gashes or slashes on Sylnan's person, dreading the possibility of such an attack. 

"He didn't get to us though. I heard him coming. We lead him through the underbelly of the town, through a winding, looping maze of towering stone walls and filth. That reminds me, I'm washing our clothes tomorrow, yes that includes your blanket, no that doesn't include your doll's clothes. Anyway, the beast wasn't like us, it couldn't see quite as well as me and after a few smart twists and turns, it became her another victim to the labyrinth that sleeps below the Wharf. Just because he was gone didn't mean we were safe."

And on his story went. Most if it was exaggerated, parts were skipped over, his beating, for example, turned into an attack by three other thrives angry that they had others encroaching on their territory that could have been avoided if Sylnan hadn't rang the bells, and for theatrical purposes, he pulled the two from his pocket and dropped them onto the table. His story continued with him and Ugarth making their way into the city where sylnan managed to swipe some petty coin and swindle for a better part if his pay from a con man who was dumb enough to underestimate the incredible Nanlys, Sylnan's alter ego and the main character in every dinner time retelling. The story ended with triumph and celebration, as always. 

After dinner, Br'aad helped clean up and was allowed to play outside, as long as he started on the street and came home when the lamplighters began their march over yonder. 

Sylnan collapsed in on himself on his cot, too tired and sore to bother kicking off his boots. The second he let his eyes flutter closed he fell asleep. 

The changing of the seasons never had been kind to him every year, like clockwork, his body would shut down and he'd be a mess of night sweats, fevers, fainting spells, and coughing fits that could get so bad he'd be knocking on death's door. The swell of summer had once again brought to life one such fits. Br'aad could hear Sylnan's croaking all the way at the end of the street. However unpleasant it was, both were very used to these awful bouts of illness. Br'aad shook it off with ease, more concerned with the collection of earwigs he'd found under a rock. He spent the next half hour digging small trenches in the mud with his finger just to watch them wiggle through them. They reminded him of the horse pulled buggies in the city just super tiny and not nearly as smelly. Too preoccupied with those, he had no idea that Sylnan had started convulsing. Even if he had, it wasn't like he would have been able to do a damn thing about it. 

He spotted the first of the lamplighters start to make their rounds off in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder to see if his brother would come and shout for him. When he didn't, Br'aad figured he was fine to stay out for a while longer. Sylnan never came to get him. Not even after every last light was lit. That's when Br'aad started to worry. 

He found his brother safe and sound in their room, his breathing shallow and sharp. All at once the memories of his previous fits came flooding back to him. Back at the orphanage, one of the caretakers would take Sylnan away, and he wouldn't see him again for days. All of last year, Sylnan had managed to muscle through his fevers, drinking his weight in water every chance he had. Br'aad figured that was something he could do well enough, fetch water. The fountain wasn't too far, he'd be there and back before anyone knew it.

He tied his blanket around his neck, grinning at his homemade cape. Just like Sylnan, he thought proudly. He snatched his cool, new shoes out from their hiding spot and began shuffling his way back outside only to trip again and tumble down the stairs like a bunch of bricks. Just like that he forgot the shoes.

Somewhere far off, just beyond the castle walls, he could hear the old bells of the church begin their sing song welcome of the eleventh hour. 

The cold winds were wild that evening. They rampaged their ways through the sleeping wharf, ripping leaves from their boughs and branches and smattering them to the gutters below. Shop signs rattled and shook above their shop doors. Dust was scooped up and shot at everything that moved. It wreaked havoc upon all it could find, tearing at the shutters, banging on doors, tugging on the tied sails of the ships at the docs. At last it spotted the child struggling to shove against it. Sand pelted Br'aad's cheeks, leaving temporary blips of pain in its wake. He kept an arm up to shield his eyes but it wasn't nearly enough. 

It slithered up his pants legs, sending a shudder along his spine. It clawed at his arms, almost desperate to see blood. They battered and bruised the child and still he pressed onward. 

The fountain wasn't too fond of the beating it was taking. It's waters slushed about messily, creating a freezing mist from it's spout that turned the dust to mud in Br'aad's tangled hair. It did not make collecting water in Br'aad's dingy little water skin easy. Nothing in Br'aad's life was ever easy, however, so he thought next to nothing of it. It took longer than he would have liked to fill the damned thing up but at long last he prevailed. He turned quickly and found that now the winds weren't fighting him. Caught in his blanket cape it pushed him along, harder than it meant, forcing Br'aad into a light jog just to keep up with it. 

He burst through the door and had to fight to slam it shut after him. He scowled at the waves of dirt that it had scattered about in the floors knowing that he'd be the one who'd have to sweep it up. That could wait till the morning, he reasoned. There were more pressing matters to attend to. With that he darted up the stairs pretending that he hadn't heard the return of a distant great grandfather clock start it's ticking once more. 

Sylnan was right where he'd left him, still asleep, still fighting to breathe. He pressed the back of his hand to his brother's face, like Sylnan would whenever he felt sick, but he had no idea what it was he was looking for. He figured he was somehow helping however, and that was good enough for him. He pulled their little lantern over and struggled to get Sylnan to drink without choking on it or spitting it back up. Not certain what else to do when this seemed to do nothing, he pulled over his own cot, fetched one of his books, and began reading it aloud. 

He kept his eyes in the book and on his brother, the only things that mattered in the moment. Not the rats, not their king, not the return of the eyes, yellow and purple, closing in, staying in the darker shadows cast by the lantern light. Not the stranger stood at the end of the street, watching the factory from a distance, a hulking beast of a man at his side, grumbling out orders to a smaller creature that took off shortly after. He didn't see them. 

For a brief moment the two were safe in their home where the biggest threat was one of Sylnan's fever induced seizures or coughing fits. Nothing more. Where the worst thing Br'aad had to worry about was how late in the night it was becoming but his need to see what happened to the small glass rabbit in his story prompted him to ignore that too. The only worries on Sylnan's mind were the indescribable dreams that would come to him when troubles with such seasonal sicknesses. 

All was alright in their horrifically small worlds. Sometimes that's just the way things go.


	6. Chapter Six: Making Messes

"Now which way?"

Sylnan looked down the tunnel to his left and bit into his lip. Every single hallway was the exact same as the last. There weren't any writings anywhere, no symbols, no small chips or cracks distinguishable enough to be used as landmarks, no way to differentiate one from the last or the next. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to blink away the headache gnawing away at him. 

"I don't know-ow!" 

He couldn't count how many times Ugarth had flicked his ears during this stupid test. Or the back of his head. He knew better than to try and protect himself, his knuckles were still swollen after having made that mistake. 

"Wrong. Try again." 

"Ugarth, I'm lost, I really don't- ow! Quit it!"

"I'm not here to hold your fucking hand, Sylnan! You got yourself into this mess, you can figure out how to get out of it."

"But you're the one who dragged me down here- ow! Stop!"

Sylnan turned on his heel and was quick to give Ugarth a sharp jab just under his ribs, which, needless to say, pissed Ugarth off something pretty bad, and he in turn, decked Sylnan. Harder than he had intended to too. Sylnan slammed into the wall with a harsh thud and a groan.

"Two things," Ugarth said after a few seconds, "First, you hit like a girl, we should work on that. Uh, second, I am so sorry."

"You suck ass, you know that?" 

There was something jarring hearing a ten year old little kid say such things. It would have been hilarious to him if he weren't the one getting cussed out by a small child. And what was he supposed to say to that? What could he have possibly said? The only thing he could think of was a mumbled, "I said I was sorry." 

"And I said you suck! I don't care if it's right, I'm gonna go this way and if you follow me I will start screaming." 

"Sylnan," Ugarth pleaded, more annoyed than anything else. The kid said nothing. He simply gave him the finger and began walking off down the path on their right. He didn't follow after him. He hadn't known Sylnan for long, a few months at most, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the kid would have in fact started screaming. Which was a problem because Sylnan was in no way shape or form going the right way. No, that was fine. He wanted to be a brat, he could get lost. Wasn't any skin off of Ugarth's back. It was just a secret sewer system crawling with thugs and thieves and people who couldn't care less about a life other than their own, eager to find any means to their own ends. 

"Hmmm. Fuck." 

He began following at a distance, making sure not to disturb any puddles or make any noise so Sylnan wouldn't hear him.

The problem with that was the fact that Sylnan did. He'd spent enough time in these god awful sewers to recognize the sound of footfall that wasn't his own. It was a faint sound, something he could have easily passed off as his imagination, but he'd spent the better part of two weeks having to listen for things out of place and he knew that sound just as well as he knew the back of his own hand. He sighed deeply and stopped, letting Ugarth catch back up. He glared up at the half orc. Ugarth found himself unable to meet the younger one's eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Sorry."

Sylnan continued walking, stopping only to take his shitty little shank out of his pocket and claw a small 'X' onto the bottom most stone on the wall. 

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving a trail so I know where I've been."

"That's a good way to get hunted and followed."

"I'm never going to memorize this place without some sort of help."

"That's why I'm here!"

"Asking me which way to go and not saying anything isn't fucking helping! If it were, I wouldn't have to-damn it!" He dropped the make-shift shiv and pulled his hand close to his chest. "I hate these fucking tunnels." 

"You're bleeding now? Ah jeeze- did you cut your self on the fucking glass you keep in your pockets? Is that what you just did?"

Sylnan opened his mouth to shout something that had been on his mind for quite some time but stopped before he could so much as take another breath in. He held up his bleeding hand to silence Ugarth. The two of them stood perfectly still and listened. 

Floating down the halls, not too unlike a mother's song carried by the winds, came quite the cacophony. It was a chilling mixture of noises. Sylnan could place those of screams, agonized and tortured screams of both men and women very much alive though not for too much longer. There was the slam of a heavy door, but not the metal ones Sylnan had come to expect around these parts. Following its booming roar were the squishy, wet splats of fleshy feet on the cold concrete. And closer still was the low rumbling of too many legs clawing at the walls.

"What's that?" Sylnan whispered.

Ugarth put himself between the kid and the noise and slowly began backing up, "I don't know." He answered. 

Sylnan knew very little about Ugarth. He knew that he wasn't as mean as others said he'd be. He knew he wasn't much for conversation and hardly had any sense of smell left. He knew that Ugarth would sing softly to himself when bored and deny doing so when asked about it. He knew that Ugarth wasn't afraid of anything. Expect, it seemed, for whatever it was making its way towards them now. 

The creature let out an ear splitting shriek and that was all it took. Ugarth pushed Sylnan with a frightened, "Go, run!" 

Sylnan didn't have to be told twice. It hardly seemed to matter though as he wasn't nearly as fast as Ugarth who yanked him along by his wrist. He could hear whatever it was scampering after them, shrieking and hissing. Occasionally it would snap at one of Sylnan's heels. He let out a yell when a jagged tooth like protrusion broke through skin, not because it hurt, but because in order to do so the creature did have to bite through his leather boots and he doubted how easy doing that would be. Apparently easier than letting go as the thing was effectively stuck, face first to his foot. It hit the ground hard and pulled Sylnan down with it. 

Ugarth felt Sylnan slip through his fingers and in an instant spun around with new found fire in his gut. The creature was a nasty looking thing, with four visible eyes, two of them were sprouting just above an oozing set of tiny pincers, on either side of them was a longer set of pincers, busted and broken, and one impaled into the kid's shoe, pinning him to the ground. It rose a barbed, hook like claw up and swung it wildly at the half orc, missing by less than an inch. Ugarth freed a dagger from it's scabbard and dove forward, slashing at the pincer holding down the younger one. It let out a horrific screech and lurched backwards. Ugarth took the time to grab Sylnan and went right in back to running.

"What is that thing?!"

"I don't fucking know!"

Sylnan watched in absolute horror as the creature began tearing at the stone flooring with its wretched claws. Ugarth turned a corner before he could see the damned thing disappear into the hole it had made but that didn't mean much of anything. He could hear it rumbling in the floors, inside the walls, above them. It was everywhere!

The wall to the left of Ugarth's head exploded, spewing rocks in every which way. The creature squirmed, struggling to fit it's misshapen body through the hole not quite big enough for its size. It reeled back with a cry before throwing itself into the wall again, opening the gap up enough for it to pour out with a clatter. 

"Ugarth, go right!"

"Are you kidding? That'll take us deeper in!"

"The tunnels are smaller, it won't fit!" 

"You did just see what it did to the fucking walk, right?"

"Ugarth!"

The half orc let out a panicked scream, already regretting his decision to listen to the kid who had no idea where they were. He dug his heel into the earth and used his momentum to swing them around, nearly sending both toppling to the ground. He could hear the creature screaming behind them, it's talon like legs scraping the walls as it walked. Sylnan watched as it mangled it's own body trying to squeeze through the hall the two had rushed down. It bashed away at the walls stopping it. A laugh tore through Sylnan at the sight. He didn't actually think that would work! It didn't stop the creature, by no means, but it did slow it down considerably. That was really all he could have hoped for. 

The creature squawked, opening its mouth revealing a jagged mountain range of teeth all jutting out in every imaginable direction. From the gory abyss of it's throat bubbled up a thick, orange substance. With a gargled squak it sent this bile across the floors, spattering along the walls. Sylnan shut his eyes as a gob of it landed on his cheek. He let out a scream and frantically tried to get the burning snot off with his sleeve, only to smear it worse along half of his face. What's worse is it began to eat through his jacket, burning his palm and wrist while it was at it. 

There were about eight hundred million ways Ugarth imagined he'd die. He'd pictured it so often he wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't lived through at least half of them already and one of the gods was just fucking with him, tricking him into thinking he'd made it up. He could imagine death by blade so perfectly he could practically feel his flesh sink and give way to one without ever being touched. His lungs would ache for air at the thought of drowning. His skin would itch and he'd writhe when his mind would drift to burning alive. Not once, in the countless times he'd stared into a mug of ale daydreaming about the end if it all, did he ever think he'd die in the sewers, while carrying a child, by the world's biggest, ugliest fucking bug. Yet there he was! Funny how that goes.

Sylnan on the other hand had stared a staggering number of demons in the face in his short 10 years and somehow his own mortality was not on that goddamn list! And he was not about to put it up there either. This thing on the other hand was about to. He snatched Ugarth's remaining dagger from its home. It was heavy and hot in his burned hand. He shook himself out of Ugarth's grasp and swung into action before he ever hit the ground. 

The beast roared at the child dumb enough to stand before it's oozing maw. 

Sylnan wasn't the smartest boy in town. In fact, most people would have gladly said he was the exact opposite. He was very rarely right about anything, his career choices, his life decisions, where he thought milk came from, very wrong, all of it. He was right about one thing. The tunnels were indeed too small for the hulking fiend. It fought hard to wiggle around to get a nice clean shot on the morsel of food so close and just out of it's reach. Close enough for Sylnan. And that was enough. 

He threw himself to his knees and slid a decent distance under the creature. He held the dagger held up above his head, eyes shut tight, and felt it snag on the soft underbelly of the creature. He winced hearing the crunch if it's armor give way to the path of the blade. He was instantly showered with the same viscous goop that had burned his cheek moments prior. He rushed to roll out of its way and pressed himself against the wall, trapped between two flailing back legs. He gave one a harsh kick, watching it snap right in half with a crunch. Huh.

Ugarth skittered to a stop at the sound of the beast shriek in an outraged pain and struggled to remember when he'd dropped the damn kid. He looked around frantically for the tiny thing that was his stupid half elf partner. He saw nothing. His heart sank. 

Despite the child being out of sight, he was far from out of mind. The beast folded in on itself, furious that the tunnels made it nearly impossible to turn around. Desperate and blood thirsty, it began ripping apart the walls once more. Sylnan used this time to climb into the creature's writhing mass, sinking the blade deep into the creature to better help him up. 

He could have let Ugarth keep running. They never would have made it out alive. He figured that out the second the thing started spitting up acid. They had to kill it. He had to kill it. How the fuck was he supposed to kill it? He seated himself on the creature's back and drilled the blade beneath the plated armor the beast naturally bore. He pried some up and off and beamed at the soft flesh he'd exposed. He sank the blade home, pressing harder and farther than it was meant to until his entire hand up to his elbow had been consumed. He yanked his arm back and away with a hiss. He hoped whatever was coating his arm would wash out. He just did laundry too! 

The beast did not like that at all.

His face met the wall and he stumbled back. Maybe it was luck, or dare it be said, fate, but the child managed to latch onto the creature before it could throw him to the ground, dragging him with it through its new tunnel. 

Ugarth shouted in horror seeing the creature vanish back into the walls and leaving behind nothing, no body, alive or otherwise, nothing. 

"Sylnan?!"

He couldn't answer, he was too busy trying not to swallow dirt and rocks. He kicked at another leg, thrilled to see it pop right out of its socket and fall behind. Four more to go. Once again the two burst free out into the open, scaring Ugarth half to death. The creature thrashed, determined to shake the tiny pest off of itself which was easier said than done. 

Maybe it was the earlier smell of blood, perhaps it was how hard his heart pounded inside his chest, or it could have been the adrenaline, or even seeing at last the fact that Sylnan was still alive somehow, but something snapped in the back of Ugarth's mind. He took his remaining dagger back into his hand and charged at the beast. He went for the other pincer, snapping it in two while Sylnan carved a gaping gash down the beast's side in a wild attempt to hold on. The creature spat it's acid about uselessly, none of the spatter was able to reach either boy. It's thrashing has done it no good, it had just lost its good set of pincers, it was starting to panic. Angry, scared, it lifted one if it's claws and launched it towards Ugarth. Sylnan took the time to bust a third leg jumping up towards the monster's neck. He began hacking away at the barbed armor protecting it. Ugarth was no longer an issue in the creature's eyes. It slammed itself up into the ceiling, hoping this would smoosh the problem maker once and for all. 

That's all it took. The blade in the boy's hands pushed past the natural armor and drove itself deep into the creature's neck. Due to being angled oddly, up and inward, it was lodged just behind the beast's furthest left eye. A thick goop began leaking out of said eye and the beast grew still. It made no noise and it fell forward landing hard on the ground and sending a tremor down the path leading up to Ugarth. Sylnan toppled shortly soon after, rolling into the wall. 

Ugarth darted towards him. Was he dead? Oh Brendan wasn't going to like that. No sir. The kid was absolutely covered in scattered burns, some worse than others but nothing to the third degree. Ugarth moved to look for a pulse and nearly threw up when he couldn't find one. 

For those of us who aren't Ugarth, the pulse can be found in a number of places, one's wrist and neck are typically the go to places to check as they tend to be the easiest to get to and stronger. To check for one, simply take your index and middle finger, press them close together, and place them again either at the neck or on the underside of the wrist. You should feel a faint, rhythmic bump if the person is alive. You do not test someone's pulse by taking your entire hand and placing it firmly on the upper arm of the person in question, in this case Sylnan. 

Again, Ugarth found no pulse emanating from Sylnan. So you can probably imagine his terror and surprise when the kid opened his eyes and sat up alive and mostly ok. Kind of. Not really. He shook his hands, hoping it would get rid of the goop that still burned it's way through his skin. It didn't. Made a small sound of discomfort and disgust and struggled to his feet. 

"Uh oh," he said.

"What? Why uh oh- What's uh oh?"

Sylnan didn't answer. Instead he threw up. He stared down at the mess he made just glad that he hadn't gotten any on his shoes or clothes. He looked back up at Ugarth with a forced smile.

"I'm better now." 

Ugarth blinked a few times. He was certain that if he did it enough, he'd wake up and find himself back in his bed at home. All it did was hurt his eyes. He pulled Sylnan to his feet, still too bewildered to say anything. He kept looking back at the monster, expecting it to wiggle back up to it's hooked claws and strike at them again. It didn't. 

The encounter put a sudden end to their lesson. Ugarth led Sylnan through the maze without complaint, putting as much distance as he could between them and the creepy, dead bug...crab...thing. Once again the two found themselves back in the pub that was the main hub of the thieves' den. He dumped Sylnan off at a table and was hesitant for a moment. The kid looked awful. He'd only just recently gotten over the flu, his fever had yet to dissipate completely, he was clearly tired, bleeding, and burned to shit, covered head to toe in a thick goop. He probably needed a doctor. He wasn't too sure where to go to find one of those in these parts. He hoped some food would be enough for the time being. 

"Stay here and stay awake, I'll be back."

He glanced at Sylnan one last time before hightailing it out of the main pub down a series of halls made up of a complex collection of turns meant to confuse those who had to take it. He knocked on a simple, wooden door that very much shouldn't have been there. A stone cold silence echoed back at him. Slowly the door craked open and before him stood Sark who was not at all pleased to be disturbed. 

"What do you want, pip squeak?"

"Is Brendan in?"

"I asked you a question, boy." 

"I came to talk to Brendan-"

"He doesn't do house visits-"

"-about the new initiate! About Sylnan!" He shouted that last part, standing on his toes to try and peak over the orc's shoulder. A soft voice piped up but he hadn't been able to make out what it said. Sark let a low growl out before opening the door the rest of the way and stepping back to let Ugarth in. 

Brendan was hunched over a cluttered table filled with maps of the city, blueprints of some buildings too large to be anything outside of the castle walls, and crumpled messes of plans not quite good enough for the guild leader's liking.

"This had better be important." That was all the man said. He didn't even bother to look up from his work.

"I'm not certain if I'm the right person to be training him, sir." Ugarth bit his lip. Those weren't exactly the words he wanted to come out of his mouth. 

The man let out a heavy sigh and slammed his quill down on the table. He rose to his feet and glared at Ugarth but said not a word. Ugarth found it almost funny how afraid he was of this puny man. Has he been anyone else, he probably could have taken him on and won. He knew better than to even think such thoughts. 

"I mean no disrespect, it's just that, well, sir, I'm a simple thief. The kid's a killer."

That seemed to spark something in the man. Ugarth couldn't tell what exactly. He wasn't sure if the face he made was one of interest, anger, or disbelief. Maybe a mixture of all three?

Sark laughed, "Killer? That kid? He's scared of butterflies!"

"He is! We were in the tunnels, I was training him on memorizing them, we found a beast. It attacked us and he killed it."

Sark slammed the door. He rolled his eyes so hard Ugarth could hear the wet sounds of them sliding against his eyelids. However unentertained Brendan was, Sark was the opposite. He was thoroughly amused more like it. 

"A beast? Did you find a couple of rats? Stumble upon another fish person?" He asked with a cackle. "Get spooked by your own shadows?"

"I may not be the driest stone in the creak but I sure as hell ain't stupid neither! It weren't no rat, it was a beast. Bug too, took up the entirety of the smaller halls, six legs, two claws, it's still there I can show you, I can prove it!"

"And if you can't?"

"I am many things, a liar isn't one of them."

"You're a thief!"

"Not a liar." 

Sark looked towards his boss and the two seemed to hold a conversation of their own without ever once opening their mouths. Sark crossed his arms with a humph.

"Alright, show me." 

He did. To his surprise, the beast wasn't too far from where their leader hid. He probably could have felt the ground tremble when the thing tried to get away from them. Both men stared dead eyed at the adolescent ankheg dead on the ground. The orc was stunned, too stunned to say anything to antagonize Ugarth with, too stunned to keep up his tough appearances. Brendan let a flash of a smile sneak past his face. 

"Sylnan did this?"

"Most of it, I cut off the pincers but he did everything else. I think a part of it's still stuck in his foot."

"He was bit?"

"Yeah, and slammed into the ceiling, and spat on….he took a beating."

Brendan cast a side eyed glance at Ugarth, who looked unscathed to say in the least. "Sark, send for one of the healers. Ugarth will cover the charges, no matter how high. And send someone to come clean this up. I don't need any scavengers coming for it. As for the boy, he will remain in your charge, I might finally have a use for you both after all."


	7. Chapter Seven: Hope

Br'aad had tumbled into a routine in the following days. He'd awaken shortly after Sylnan had left, practice his reading and then dash to the library. He'd always arrive a minute or so before they opened and he was always the first one in. The first thing he did was hunt for books on magic and just like the clown had said, he found hundreds of them. He'd spend the better part of his day bothering the gnome librarian for help with the words he didn't know and there were a lot of them. When she grew tired of his pestering, or when some other work needed her attention, she'd shoo him away and Br'aad would mosey on into the market place to see the clown and the small carnival he traveled with. 

It wasn't long until the lonely days he'd spent locked away inside the factory had become nothing more than a collection of bad memories already being forgotten. 

There are many things that make a bad place home. Small things. Things that at first you wouldn't even consider. Like hearing the soft him of your brother down stairs. Or spending hours awake long after nightfall l, passing the time with a conversation with no end, a carousel of memories and a laughter in the twilight. Or even the smell of the pine trees just outside the window. Br'aad had a treasury of things that made that place home, but there are things not even the sweetest of memories can fix. Those moments, they were home. That factory would never be his home. He was thrilled to finally have a reason to be away from it, free at last.

So he found his home in new places. The reading nook in the library on the second floor. The busy street dancing with the six man band of odd balls. The smile of the gnome when he poured through the doors. The sound of pages turning in his hands. The jingling of bells. He found home just about everywhere all the time. He never had the time to mourn for one because he would always be in the company of another and what more could he have possibly asked for?

The clown and contortionist, reminiscent of their own childhoods upon seeing Br'aad, were more than happy to introduce him to their jigs and jobs. It wasn't long before they started including him in their small shows that they put on every fifth day of the week when the city streets were full and the morale lively. They wouldn't let him swallow swords or eat fire but they didn't stop him from dancing, singing, and prancing. At some point he'd picked up a pair of stilts and he'd pretend to be an adult. He'd go back and forth with the sword swallower much to the amusement of the small crowd of children that slowly began to gather around. The shows never did bring in much money but the nice thing about these people was the fact that they didn't seem to care about that. There was always a smile on at least two of their faces, always a laugh to be had, and good times to be shared. 

They never did last though. The sun would set and maybe an hour or so after, Br'aad would have to say goodbye and return to the factory. As always, Sylnan wouldn't be home. The cupboards would be empty. The rat king would giggle. He'd go up to his room and sit in his cot and try to escape the factory through his books. 

"I'm home!"

Sylnan. 

There'd be the gentle sound of food hitting the counter tops and with it came a soft hum of a song Br'aad could just almost hear the words to, but not quite understand. He'd come bounding down the stairs practically bursting at the seams, thrilled to see his brother home again. He'd been gone for a while, a little over two days. He said that the flu had hurt them more than Br'aad could ever understand and that he needed to make up for that. Judging by the looks of things, he had. It had been some time since Br'aad had seen so much food. 

Sylnan held up a pheasant with a grin, "What do you think? Boil it or roast it?"

"Roast"

"Ok. Help me prune it"- he handed Br'aad the bird-"I'll go start the fire."

He sat down at the table and began picking out the feathers of the bird. He took care not to bend them too badly, grinning at the thought of having quills to practice his writing at home too now. They needed tips still but he figured with some perseverance he could make that happen.

Sylnan had stopped his humming, replacing it with a soft singing. His voice didn't get loud enough to float out the window like how their mother's used to, but it held every last bit of love as hers once had. He watched the small fire come to life and could almost feel her hand run through his hair. He could almost see her draped across a fancy couch adorned in a flashy collection of silks. There was someone's hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing slightly, running a thumb in small, soothing circles. Their voice, too, would join in. Sylnan couldn't see their faces but he knew that they were both smiling simple little smiles. Her eyes would be closed as she leaned her head into the chest of the man cradling her. 

"Sing with me, Sylnan," she'd whisper and he would. The three of them together in front of the fire, the smell of roasted nuts, the sound of rain just beyond the stained glass windows. Home.

He blinked and it was gone. He'd started crying. He didn't know when. He quickly washed the stray tears from his cheeks with his singed sleeve. He smiled when he heard Br'aad singing along with him and laughed when he realized that Br'aad was just making up the words as he went. 

"Take the feathers, put them down here, make the bird naked-uh oh. Don't tell Sylnan I broke its wing and-"

He chuckled a bit, taking a second more just to savor the moment before returning to the kitchen, "How's it going in here?"

"Everything's good, you could even say perfect-"

"What happened to it's arm?"

"Sylnan," Br'aad sighed, "it was like that when you gave it to me." 

"No it wasn't."

He took over pruning the bird, sending Br'aad off to fetch them something to skewer it with. He had to bite his tongue when Br'aad came back with the fire pokers, proud of his findings. 

It took them about four hours just to get dinner done. Their only care in the world was that they didn't burn the place down in the process. It wasn't the best meal in the world by a long shot but it was certainly better than what they'd been eating recently and neither of them could deny that. It smelled better too. 

"I think I like surprise pasta more than pheasant." 

"Well too bad, you need the protein."

"What's protein?"

How the fuck was Sylnan supposed to know? It was just something adults said to get kids to eat. Kids listened to big words better because it sounded important. At least he did. Br'aad had forgotten the question almost as soon as it left his mouth. There were more interesting things to talk about.

"Oh! Do you have more stories? Did you fight any bandits?"

Sylnan stopped chewing his food to chew on an answer. He tentatively brought a hand to his cheek where the creature had spat on him. He could almost still feel his skin sizzling beneath it. Now there wasn't so much as the faintest scar to prove it had even happened. He swallowed thickly.

"Nothing exciting. Hunting mostly."

"Oh." Br'aad opened his mouth with a gasp. 

He was this close to telling Sylnan about how the gnome librarian had surprised him with his latest book and said that he could keep it. It was a heavy book too, with strangely colored pages that smelled funny. It had a big eye on the cover, yellow and purple. Most of it's words were too big for him to understand yet. He was excited to try nonetheless. 

He was this close to telling Sylnan about how he finally figured out how to do a handstand while balancing on a ball. It had taken him the better part of a week to do. Standing on his hands on the flat ground had been easy enough, he figured the ball wouldn't be much different. Except of course for the fact that it was nearly impossible to climb on to. It was tall and wobbly and Br'aad didn't have the grace that his brother had. But he did it without help and that alone thrilled him.

He was this close to telling Sylnan about how the twins had showen him how to make crude flutes out of big sticks. He was this close to producing the little thing he'd made. It didn't sound anything like the flutes the twins played. He called it a kazoo. He loved it. 

This close. 

Sylnan stared at Br'aad expectantly. He shrank under his brother's gaze remembering that he was supposed to keep all of that a secret. He played it off as a sneeze and hoped that would satisfy Sylnan. It did. Br'aad smiled. He felt clever having fooled his brother. Like all of his time with the carnival had paid itself off. He was good about his secret, sly and coy, just like Sylnan. It flooded away any doubts he had and anchored a spark of self confidence in their place. 

He helped Sylnan with the dishes before both saw themselves to bed. Sleep came easy and his dreams were pleasant. He saw rolling fields with flowers in dazzling colors. He saw confetti spattered all across the cobblestone paths of the city. He could hear the triumphant swell of the drums, the crescendo of the flutes and the violins quickly joining in on the song. There were dances and feasts and so much laughter and the factory was nowhere in sight. 

When he woke up the music stopped dead. The colors faded. The laughter was gone. His delight was snuffed out like the candle just off to his left. He was back inside the dreaded factory. Sylnan was gone. Always gone. 

He sat up with a huff. Nothing was ever going to change, was it? Life was just going to poke and prod at him with these tasteful teases of a joyous life but never deliver, wasn't it? 

It was harder for him to drag himself out of bed that morning, like his limbs were several seconds behind his mind, held down by chains that he couldn't see. The ticking was back. He was starting to get really sick of that. Sensing his irritation it stopped, sending one last solid echo out into the hall and down the stairs. It had never done that before. It liked to hover in the back of his mind, disappearing in a mess of his thoughts, it was never actually, well, real, for lack of a better word. 

That's it. That's all it took. At long last, the final pieces had been set into place. Conditions were right, the tension was high. It was a labor of destiny, back bent and greedy, and it sang out to Br'aad with that final, fading tick. Br'aad got to his feet. It was time at last to get the show underway. Just a tiny step sent out a spark awaking the beast lurking in the dark. A smile cracked across its face. Fate, as it had been written, was changing, unraveling with the slightest tug of a simple string. 

Br'aad couldn't explain what came over him. Something in his chest screamed at him  
It demanded that he follow the sound that had only been imagined up until this point. 

Game, set, match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaaaa he's here!!!


	8. Chapter Eight: A Disappearing Act

The fog in the morning air was thick. It slathered the city in a slimy grime, wet to the touch and impossible to wash away. There wasn't a spot of blue to be seen in the sky. No sun. No moon. No stars. Only the sepia canvas allowed itself to be seen. There were no winds. The air was calm and still. The waves themselves seemed hesitant to crash on the rocky beaches and the sandy shores. There weren't nearly as many people out and about and there shouldn't have been. A storm was brewing just beyond the horizon line and while it couldn't yet be seen, the people of the Great King's Wharf knew well enough of it's approach. They could feel it, in their blood, their bones, their minds. It was coming and it was going to be bad.

Br'aad had no other company as he walked down the street. Even his own shadow was too cowardly to join him at his side. He stopped at the end of the block. A rat poked it's tiny little head out from under the scaffolding, watching intently, along with a constellation of hundreds upon thousands of other glittering eyes. He turned away from his usual path to the library. Giddy with excitement the eyes shuddered, rolling into one large mass, formless and terrifying. The rat, the only witness to this disaster, shrank back into its hiding place. The king stared through it, intrigued. The form slithered along the stone rushing to catch up with the child. 

He couldn't go to the library. His dream had felt so real, so close, it was a future that was within his grasp and he had the means to reach it. Just not at the library. 

He stomped down the streets in his funny, curled shoes still too big for him just yet. Alarms were sounding off in his head but growing up the way he did there were always alarms, at this point, they were hardly cause for alarm. A tiny voice pleaded in the back of his head, begging him to think things through and reconsider. What about Sylnan, it asked him. What about him? A louder voice asked. Not his own and not argued. 

He found the carnival right where they always were. The twins were taking down their sheet made tent, while the fire eater and sword swallower tidied up costumes. He spotted the contortionist not too far down the road, walking back with some pails of water in her hands. He smiled at the sight of them.

"Stumbles! You're here early." The clown sighed, glancing back at the twins who both shuffled in place awkwardly. The clown bent down, "We gotta talk, kiddo."

Br'aad had heard that same sentence one too many times for a vast number of reasons. Sylnan had sighed it the exact same way when he first joined that putrid guild. He had given Br'aad a new dress for his doll in order to make the bad news bearable, or maybe it was a gift used as a mouthpiece for forgiveness. The librarian would whisper it when she was about to send Br'aad away after he'd asked one too many questions. He didn't want the clown to say it too. 

"The gang and I, well, we go where the money goes, and it's just not here. We're boarding a boat later this afternoon. We're headed overseas for a bit. I don't know when...or if...we'll be back. Now, look, that- no don't cry! Hey, it's ok, Stumbles. Wanna know why?"

Br'aad sniffled, not bothering to clear his face from the tears that slipped down his cheeks because then he'd have to admit that they were there and that meant he'd have to admit that this was happening, his future was leaving him behind in this rotten shit hole for the same reason that kept Sylnan and him trapped. The clown placed a funny, bell covered hat onto Br'aad's head, pushing a strand of his hair out of his eyes and smiled warmly.

"You said that you didn't have a home and you don't have any parents and you've proven yourself, you're one of us, kiddo, you're family. We circus folk, well we never leave family behind. We wouldn't leave without you."

Off in the distance beyond the lazy hills a coyote began to wail. They're curious creatures, coyotes. Pups can sound almost exactly like small babies. This was not a pup. This one was full grown and it wouldn't be long before five to seven others would soon be at her side, snarling and fighting for her attention and approval. In one of the books Br'aad had read, the only time coyotes were ever mentioned was right before the little glass rabbit was about to make a mistake. The author would take a second to pause the narrative to describe a coyote on the prowl. They'd highlight the length of its teeth flashing in the moonlight. They'd remark on the dried blood still caked to it's paws. They'd say how it lay low to the ground a bit, ears pulled back, eyes focused, moving so as not to make too much noise. But this wasn't a book so he pretended that he never heard it.

Sylnan heard it too. His head snapped towards it's direction and he thought of Br'aad. The wagon jostled him about something awful but even despite that he could see the battered silhouette of the factory, miles off from the hills, miles away from the coyotes that cried, and miles away from him. 

The first day he met Ugarth, the man had tried to scare Sylnan by talking about all the dangers of the job. Among those were getting snatched up by eagles or Hawks. 

"After all, you're like 45 pounds with stone shoes on, you'd be a wonderful little snack," he'd say with a chuckle. "Don't get me started on the wolves, kid. Oh the wolves! They're not like the birds, Sydman-"

"Sylnan-"

"Whatever. They ain't like the birds. They like the hunt. They sniff you out from cities away-"

"That's nice."

"They stalk you from the bushes, staying out of sight until it's too late. They rip into you while you're still alive." 

He would go on for hours, adding more and more to this horror story of a wolf attack, building a stockpile of gruesome details as he went. Eventually, the words wormed their way into Sylnan's head and every howl he heard sent a shiver down his spine. Instinctively his hand hell to his hip looking for his shank but this time it found nothing. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. Ugarth was busy carrying out a mind numbingly dull conversation with some snooty boy but had instantly picked up on the boy's anxiety and acted accordingly. 

"The walls are too steep, we need to go under, not over," he growled. Sylnan shuffled, pulling his knees in closer to his chest, still unable to tear his eyes away from the spot in the distance that was the factory. 

"They'll be expecting an attack from below, we need to be smart, not predictable," the other kid said. 

Sylnan wasn't sure what to make of him just yet. He was older but only by a little bit and still younger than Ugarth. He walked with his nose pointed towards the sky with his back perfectly straight. It almost looked like he was trying to impersonate a scarecrow, in that he walked like he had a stick up his ass. He spoke with an accent not from these parts that made him difficult to understand more often than not.

"Sylnan, how'd you do it? How would you get into the castle?"

"Through the front gates like a normal person," he mumbled. He waited for the sharp thwack of Ugarth's knuckles across the crown of his head but it never came. He looked up quizzically. He was always hit for sarcastic comments, why not this time? Ugarth appeared to be in deep thought. The weird kid, Jaquot, sat in an equal state of silent contemplation. 

"They'd press for our business, they're not exactly welcoming."

"Pretend to be servants coming back from visiting distant relatives or old friends. Happens all the time." Sylnan answered. He used to run and hide behind the barracks over by the main entrance. Usually only after making one of the caretakers mad enough to fetch the switch. He'd wait for them to forget about him and pass the time by watching all of those who came and went. He frowned.

"They won't let Ugarth in. They'll recognize me. Jaquot wouldn't have an issue. They might not even ask him any questions depending who's on duty." 

"How is it," Jaquot droned, "that a common street rat has so much insider knowledge on castle guards and castle etiquette?"

"Born and raised." Ugarth answered for him. 

Jaquot stared at Sylnan is complete and utter disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something and judging by the cocky smile he had on, not a nice something. One steady glare from Ugarth kept him from letting it become anything more than a not so nice thought. He shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth and leaned back into the side of the wagon for the first time since the three of them had climbed aboard it. 

"Ugh, quel problème! The hay keeps stabbing me. I'm going to get hives again," he muttered just to fill the silence.

Ugarth gently nudged Sylnan, stealing his attention. He made a few faces mocking Jaquot and Sylnan had to fight himself from laughing out loud lest the snooty boy catch them both and start scolding them again. Between Ugarth and the pompous one, Sylnan wasn't sure which liked to bitch more. He just knew that he didn't want to hear any of it from either. 

The wagon came to a stop at the very edge of a pumpkin patch. Circling overhead was a murderer of crows. Occasionally one would dive down. The actual scarecrow left hanging on its post didn't seem to be doing it's job as six happily sat along the lengths of it's sagging arms and tilted head. Something about it just didn't sit quite right with Sylnan but he was unable to place what exactly. The three walked past the crows, past the thing meant to ward them off, and past a smell so foul it made all three of them gag. 

The problem with having a king who loved his food as dearly as Rigmund did was the constant need for such foods to be either imported or home grown. The wharf, resting on miles of useless sand and covered in jagged rocks too large to dig around was not exactly the best place to put a bunch of farms. Still an attempt had been made. Resulting in nearly eighty five failed farms, eighty five farmers gone hungry and frightened and eventually dead in the lands the king had promised them. Only three farms stood, two of which were safe behind the towering castle walls. The last was this one. The king didn't even know about this one, no one really did. 

"Do we have the right place?" Jaquot whispered to Ugarth hoping that the eldest would say no sorry and they'd all get to leave.

"Do we have the right place?" His own voice answered. 

All three lept back when a crow flew to their feet in a clumsy mess of feathers and talons. It was the biggest damn bird they'd ever seen. Sylnan hid behind Ugarth, horrified that all the stories about birds coming down to steal him away to feed to their hatchlings were finally coming true. He felt childish hiding but upon seeing Jaquot faint he didn't feel so bad anymore. Then after getting a better look at the bird he felt more confused than anything else.

"Ugarth?"

"Yeah, Sylnan?"

"Why is that bird wearing pants?"

"I don't know, Sylnan."

The bird came up to Ugarth's ribs, which was, needless to say, way too fucking big for any bird to get, ever. Ever! He stumbled back, pulling Sylnan with him. All those stories about birds snatching away small children were entirely made up, his own parents used to say such silly things. He knew ever since he was little that they were false. Now he wasn't so sure. He just hoped it would take Jaquot and forget about them. 

"Why is that bird wearing pants?" It asked in Sylnan's voice. It hopped over, tilting its head to the side this way then that. Ugarth did not like how it clicked it's beak. 

"Bucket! Get back inside and leave those damn kids alone!"

"Leave those damn kids alone!" 

It turned quickly and began to hop away. The farmer stood stoic in his field with his high wheeled push plow. He tipped his hat to the two kids still up right and in view. Ugarth grinned back thrilled to see the old familiar face once more. 

It wasn't uncommon for the younger initiates and members of the guild to get sent off to the farm. The farmer was growing older with each passing day, as one tends to do, and was no longer in tip top shape. Tending to his fields had grown difficult and tedious. He'd made a deal with the guild ages ago. He'd let them come and use his shed for whatever reasons they might need it for, he wouldn't squakk about a word of it to any one, heck he'd even supply them with dairy and what little crop he could produce. All he asked for in exchange was the occasional farm hand and protection from the king. 

Sylnan kicked Jaquot in the shin, hoping to get the damn kid to wake up again. He snickered at the boot print he'd left behind on his tailored pants. It was hardly anything worse than what the fall had done to his clothing but still. The kid let out a groan and opened his eyes. He stared up at the sky for a moment before letting his eyes snap to Sylnan and Ugarth. He sat up quickly and it took him a solid second to remember where he was or who these two were. 

"Where's the bird?" He mouthed in case it was still nearby. Neither of the others answered him.

"Where do you want us today, sir?"

"Well, I need one of ya's to help me weed, one of ya's can help me set up traps for the damn mole that's been getting into shit it ain't supposed to, and the other one of ya's can help me spread more eggshells around my crops in the southern fields. Whoever does the shells can help me fix a fence post after. Neither job should take too long." 

Ugarth pointed out where each job was to be done to Sylnan, having completely forgotten that Jaquot had never set foot in a place where hard labor was required and had no idea what any of that meant. He understood the individual words, just not what was expected of him. 

"Let's get going then," the farmer chirped, "we ain't got long till that storm catches us." 

Ugarth didn't like splitting up. He wasn't able to keep an eye on either boy. He wasn't too worried about Sylnan. The kid was stupid and had no regard for personal safety, but he wasn't a stranger to this sort of work and usually handled himself pretty well. Jaquot had picked up a bucket to go weeding and had to stop because in doing so he got a splinter and started crying. He laughed when Sylnan grumbled his way over, manhandled Jaquot's hand away from his chest, and plucked it out as if removing splinters was second nature to him. 

"That's why we wear gloves Br'aa- Jaquot."!

And with that Sylnan left to go snail proof the southern fields. The work wasn't anything difficult. There was a lot of getting up and squating down, but nothing too extreme, the sort of stuff that would have a man as old as the farmer in pain for weeks. The spry kids bounced and bounded across the fields without issue. Well, no, Ugarth had some issues. Mostly because it wasn't a mole that was getting into the farmers crops but six young raccoons. None of which, by the way, were at all afraid of Ugarth and kept trying to bite him for getting close to their food and the small den they'd made as their home. The boys had finished with their chores relatively quickly. They all had to help weed, Jaquot couldn't seem to get over the fact that he'd developed blisters because he'd refused to wear the dirty gloves that Sylnan had griped at him about. 

Sylnan was thrilled. For once he'd be able to get home at a reasonable hour. He'd finally get home in time for breakfast. Even better? He'd be coming home with a fresh pitcher of milk! 

He threw open the door to the factory with the biggest smile. "I'm home!" 

Only silence answered him back. There was no groggy thundering down the stairs, no shuffling upstairs, no startled gasp. Only the squeak of the rats that had slowly begun to show themselves and watch from a distance. Sylnan set the milk down on the counter and made his way upstairs. Br'aad was probably just asleep. He frowned hoping that the kid hadn't gotten the flu too. But their bed room was empty. 

"Br'aad?"

He checked out the window along the scaffolding just in case he'd decided to be a shit head and go out when he wasn't supposed to. He saw nothing. Nothing outside, nothing in any of the cabinets, nothing in the basement aside from the rats and old man, nothing in the entire factory from floor to ceiling. Nothing. He darted outside, not bothering to close the door. Every splash of yellow threw his heart for a loop only to crush it when he found it was not in fact his little brother's messy hair but a sheet, or a sun bleached sign, or a patch of dead grass. He wasn't inside, he wasn't on their street, he was gone. Br'aad was gone.

No. No no no no no! No! 

"Br'aad? Br'aad!" 

Hope can be paralyzing. Blinding. It caught his breath in his lungs and held it hostange so that it could never get past the lump swelling in his throat. He sprinted down the street. His heart was in his face, pounding away louder than a war drum in the heat of battle. It would stop only when he spotted another kid only to break when he realized that he didn't recognize them. There weren't many people out in the streets, there weren't many faces to sift through, and still he found it too crowded. They were all the same. Minor things changed here and there but they were all the same faces. Same threats. Not Br'aad. 

He skittered to a halt in his tracks when he spotted something small on the ground. His hands shook. Slowly he bent down and plucked the cracked head of Br'aad's favorite doll up, it's sharpened ears were chipped, it's hair a mess. Not far from it lay the body and a bit farther still was its other arm. He looked up and around himself for anything, anything at all that could tell him where Br'aad went from here but he saw nothing and no one. 

He couldn't think, not for long, not without picturing only the worst possible scenarios and feeling worse with each one. If he'd just gotten home sooner, if he just left a little later, if he hadn't gone at all, this could have been avoided, Br'aad could have been safe and at home. This was his fault, he told himself, this was all his fault. 

Ugarth opened his door ready to bash in the skull of whoever it was pounding away at it. He'd just gotten home. He wanted to get changed and meditate. He wanted to drink. He wanted the strange beast in his head to quiet down. He did not want to deal with any more people for the day! 

"Sylnan? What the fuck are you doing over here?"

They were a good distance away from the factory, from the grate they'd been told to use, from everything. The people of the wharf didn't exactly like the half orcs. Ugarth was more than fine with that as it meant he could be as loud as he wanted whenever he wanted. That just meant that it had to have taken Sylnan some time to get over here. 

"He's gone, Ugarth, I don't know where he went I don't know if he's safe or if he's hurt or if someone took him, he's gone! He's gone. I didn't know where else to go, you have to help me find him. Ugarth please!"

"Slow down there bud, help find who? Who's gone?"

"Br'aad!"

Ugarth stared down at the kid not sure if the name was supposed to mean anything to him. He looked down at the dolls head still clutched tight in Sylnan's hand. 

"Right. Yeah. Br'aad." He let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't one for charitable work. Selflessness never made anyone any money or ever made their lives any easier. "I'm sure he'll turn up, dogs do these things-"

"He's not a dog! He's a boy with blond hair and green eyes and he hangs around with this thing and he's gone!" 

Fuck. It would have been easy to slam the door on Sylnan's face and leave things at that. It wouldn't have been hard to say sucks to hear, good luck with that, and send the kid on his way. So easy. And yet too difficult too. The words couldn't even form all the way in his own head. He just wanted some rest. This town wouldn't let him have anything, would it. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

"Ok. It's ok. We'll find him." 

Br'aad trailed behind the clown a tad bit. He'd been asked to help carry some of the luggage and was too proud to admit that they'd given him too much. The basket tugged on his arms, threatening to pop his shoulders from their sockets. He couldn't see over the mountain of things and had to walk at a funny angle just to make sure he didn't trip over anything. He would slow down just enough to step over a batch of shattered glass and fix his ill fitting shoes then tumble trying to catch back up. He would look to the clown for approval which he received each and every time, and he'd continue on. 

The gulls squacked about, diving down to pluck a crab from the beach or to try and steal a ribbon from the contortionist's hair. The twins fought to keep the damn things at bay so that she didn't spill any of their water. It was amusing to watch. 

The docks were busier than he expected them to be. It seemed that a lot of merchants had decided to do as the carnival was, pack up everything and get out of town. In its own little way, it was a marketplace all on its own. Merchants were eager to find last minute necessities and others were desperate to sell extras. There was never any exchange of coin. They traded in kind. Every which way he turned there was someone shouting. Nothing hurtful, nothing threatening, just shouting. It was exhilarating! He was thrilled to be a part of it all, regardless of how small or how temporary.

The boat wasn't anything to marvel at. It was a simple little thing, small and dingy. It bobbed lazily in the black waters along side it's sisters and brothers. It was without a doubt the least enthusiastic about it's being there. You could even say that it was the only thing unhappy to be there. Though one couldn't exactly blame it, the storm had drawn near enough, large and violent, a simple ship such as itself wouldn't float as well as the others in such a mess. It was the most likely to sink.

Though apparently only it seems to realize this as the carnival continued to board it without a worry or a care. 

Ugarth and Sylnan started in the marketplace. Sylnan asked every adult willing to listen. Ugarth began peeking into windows and listening at doors. The boy wanted very badly to believe that the kid had just gotten lost but he knew better than to get his hopes up too high. As much as it sucked to admit it, he couldn't just dismiss the very real and terrifying possibility that the kid was behind one of those closed and locked doors. Seldom did he see these sorts of things end well. Especially in this town. 

Truth be told, the second he left his house he knew he wasn't looking for a kid but a body. Pity he seemed to be the only one between the two expecting it. He turned away from the baker's shop and spotted Sylnan, in tears, speaking with the three sisters still setting up for their daily songs. 

"We've seen him around, he's here quite often," the drummer said. 

Sylnan sniffled, the panic subsiding just a tad at the mere mention that someone else had seen him, only to triple when they said he was a frequenter of the area. Surely they had the wrong child in mind. Br'aad was a good kid. He never left the house unless….

"Where does he usually go?"

"Well," piped up the songstress,"typically we see him horsing around with the carnival. They were here yesterday but we haven't seen 'em today." She pointed a pudgy finger across the way where only a few tattered sheets remained to make a disgraceful skeleton of what used to be their tent. He thanked the girls before dashing back to rejoin Ugarth.

"Where would a traveling circus go to get out of town?"

"Either back by the farm or they'd sail, why?"

"We didn't see any carnivals on our way back did we?"

"No, the roads were clear, but that was hours ago-"

Sylnan didn't let Ugarth finish, he hadn't heard that last part, it didn't matter. He burst through a small crowd of shoppers too fast to say sorry. He could hear Ugarth calling after him but he didn't have the time to stop and wait. He knew he wasn't fast, he knew that Ugarth could catch up if he really wanted. He tore through the town like a tornado in a trailer park. 

Br'aad didn't like how the boat rocked. It made it hard to keep upright and the added tower of luggage didn't make it any easier to stay balanced. He set them all down and took a second just to admire the town now that he was finally leaving it. It was still as hideous as always. More so even. And with that thought leaving his head, he turned to see what help was needed and to offer some extra hands. 

Sylnan tried to skitter to a stop once he reached the docks, misjudging how slick the stone could get and falling flat on his back. He scrambled to his feet and spun about. He didn't see him anywhere! He couldn't see anything! A carnival ought to be a simple thing to spot in such a dreary place and yet here there were nothing but outlandish colors in every which way. He turned to the nearest merchant, "Did you see a circus pass through here?"

"Just about every day."

Sylnan wanted to scream at the man. He wanted to yank out what few strands of grey hair he had left and throw them into the ocean. 

The ocean! 

Just a few piers over he spotted the flotsam waiting to happen littered with a curious cast of characters. Commanding a slight man and a well built woman was a man dressed in a mismatched pattern of cloth with a belled hat sat atop his head. Just past them were two people attached at the hip, quite literally, struggling to secure a few lines to their posts without elbowing the other. A woman bent over backwards to help the twins where she could without also getting hit in the process but none of them actually registered in Sylnan's head. Only the splash of yellow did.

He pushed off the merchant's cart and sprinted down the hill. They'd already cast off. The winds weren't in their sails, the waves were still, he still had a chance to catch them. 

"Sylnan!" Ugarth called from somewhere behind him.

He didn't answer. There was no time to. He needed every huff of air he could get to keep running and he was running out of pathway and that stupid ship was getting further at the pace of a one legged turtle hopped up on speed. He was never going to make it. The hill tricked him, made him forget how far things could really be and played with his eyes, he never would have made it. Still he knew he had to at least try.

When he reached the edge of the dock the ship was maybe four yards away. Sylnan took a deep breath and jumped. Twelve feet is an awfully long way to leap. Needless to say he did not reach the boat.

Salt water accosted his sinuses as it poured down his throat from through his nose. It began to seep into his lungs. The water stung his eyes and it burned like a fire in his cuts and scratches. He pushed himself to the surface and upheaved more than his weight of water from his system. 

"Br'aad Vengalor!" He shouted as best as he could. "Get your ass back to shore right this fucking instant!"

Br'aad looked around himself frantically. He usually heard his brother in the back of his head when he was doing something stupid or regrettable. And that was, unfortunately, quite often. He'd grown to accept that fact. It was becoming a bit worrisome that his imaginary sounds were all starting to manifest physically now too. That was probably not a good thing. 

The clown had heard Sylnan too. He looked at Br'aad with a twitch of anger. He grit his teeth and snatched the boat hook from its home behind the cabin door. He'd worked too long and too hard to have everything ruined by that fucking brat. He looked over the side of the ship and gave a malicious grin to the boy treading through the waters fighting like all hell to catch up. 

It was a shame he wasn't going make it.


	9. Chapter Nine: so there!

The clown swung the hook at Sylnan's head, aiming for the underside of his chin. Sylnan dove below the waves before he could reach. That was fine. The barnacles along the ship could make quick work of him just as well. It wasn't often he got to keel haul someone. He turned towards the contortionist at the wheel. All he had to do was flick his wrist and her hands began to move on their own against her will. She didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were set dead ahead. Sylnan resurfaced just in time for the ship to collide with his shoulder and shove him right back under. 

He tried to push away from it only to find that his shirt had gotten snagged and try as he might he couldn't figure out what on or where. He busted his hands against the barnacles fighting to set himself free. After the third attempt he decided it just wasn't worth it. He contorted himself until his shirt slipped over his head and up he went, gulping down mouthfuls of air. 

The clown tore away from his watch point. Sylnan took that as his queue to hurry and find a way on the ship. He swam forwards, hoping to catch up to the ladder on the gangway. He wrestled with the flimsy rope ladder, pulling himself up and out of the freezing ocean only to fall right back into it. The clown set his hatchet down so that he could load his crossbow. There was more than one way to drown a pest. 

Sylnan shut his eyes knowing that he wasn't faster than a fired bolt and hoped against all odds that the clown would miss just as badly as he had with the boat hook. He opened them when he heard Ugarth grunt. The half orc was every bit as soaked as he was and ten times as angry. He yanked the bolt out from his arm and tossed it back at the clown as if that would do anything. It did in some ways. It made him very upset. 

Br'aad inched closer, a little afraid of knowing what it was that had the clown so worked up. Surely it couldn't have been a shark, they were harmless to them at this point. The clown turned to Br'aad and had to fight to keep from glaring at him too. "Why don't you go help set up the hammocks down stairs, Stumbles." He ordered dryly. Br'aad wasn't about to argue his experience with angry adults has taught him not to. 

Ugarth sank a dagger into the side of the ship and used it to pull himself up high enough to reach the gangway opening. He reached back, yanking Sylnan by the arm up and over. Sylnan fell into the deck face first. The last thing he saw before a boot bashed into his eye was Br'aad disappearing down a small flight of stairs just past a dinky little door. 

Sylnan did the only thing he could think of doing. Unarmed, half dressed, a mess and unapologetic, he sank his teeth into the clown's ankle. The clown ripped his foot back, stumbling over one of the barrels and falling backwards. Sylnan jumped to his feet and kicked the crossbow as far as he could do that the damn clown wouldn't be able to use it against him again. Ugarth was by his side in a second, though his attention wasn't on the clown, it was on the twins, the slight man, and the built woman who had all scrambled to find weapons of their own.

Sylnan then immediately regret kicking away a weapon he probably could have used. That was fine because the hatchet was still there and he was quick to grab it and swing it around as wildly as any small child with a dangerous tool would.

Br'aad poked his head out the door just to see what all the ruckus was about and to see if he'd be able to help out in any way. The blood drained from his face upon spotting Sylnan. He was in so much trouble. 

The clown got to his feet with a laugh. He looked at Sylnan the same way a butcher oggles a boar. Ugarth spotted Br'aad and made a break for him. This startled everyone else and all at once everyone was one one another. Ugarth shoved the slight man aside like he was nothing. The built woman damn near returned the favor. He wrapped an arm around Br'aad and ran to the other side of the boat. He looked back over his shoulder to check on Sylnan very much expecting to see a blood bath at his feet and dropped Br'aad like a sack of flour overboard. 

The clown had Sylnan pinned on his back. He held the hatchet just above the boy's throat and Sylnan was cutting the palm of his left hand to keep it from beheading him. He didn't think. He lunged forward and tackled the clown off the kid. Sylnan rolled over to out as much distance between himself and the clown as he could. Ugarth was quick to punch the clown in the gut and get back up. And while more than certain that they could kill the clown and his carnival, he didn't want to. He pushed Sylnan overboard with a roar before jumping in after him.

"No, Ugarth, Br'aad!" Sylnan managed just before he returned to the waters. Thrashed about, desperate to get back on to the boat. Ugarth kept yanking him back.

"He's fine! He's on the other side."

"He's in the water? He can't swim!"

"Hhmm. Fuck." 

Sylnan blinked at Ugarth for a second. There weren't enough words to stutter! He took a deep breath and dove down, hoping to go under the boat in order to get to Br'aad faster.

You know how when you were a little kid and your parents used to take you to go swimming in the summers? Be it at a rec center, a lake, the ocean, it just at the neighborhood pool? Remember those crowded day where there were just too many people in at a time but no one cared? Remember when you used to dive for a toy and come back up only to find a man in a pool floaty blocking your way? So you tried to swim around him just to find a big group of people? And you would swim, your lungs aching, your muscles growing these, your eyes burning, desperate to find an opening just to resurface and find that you maybe swam a total of three feet? 

Now imagine that feeling but instead if a measly three feet to try and escape, it's 25, and you're a good 10 feet below the surface but that doesn't matter because above you maybe by about three inches is the bottom of a fucking boat. Sylnan used it to his advantage. He gripped the barnacles and used them to help propel himself further and faster. He found Br'aad not long after, struggling to keep his head above the waves for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Fun fact! It isn't as easy as Ugarth it look, carrying someone else while trying to swim. It's actually really hard! Being exhausted didn't help at all of course. Sylnan had to try and put Br'aad on his back so at least one of them would be able to breathe. The swim up to the boat had taken him a minute, two at most. The swim to shore felt like an hour. He was just glad that the clown had stopped trying to fucking kill him. 

He met back with Ugarth on the shores. Were it not for the sandbank being so nearby, he wouldn't have made it. He set Br'aad down once he was certain the kid could reach the floor again and all at once felt his body scream out in pain. It was almost as if he'd pulled every muscle he had and then was pelted with burning rocks. He collapsed the second he was in shallow enough waters. 

"Br'aad," he rasped, "you're grounded, until you die." He passed out after that. He woke up dangling over Ugarth's shoulder dangerously close to his butt. Br'aad was following not far behind, holding on tightly to Sylnan's hand in an incredibly uncomfortable way. Sylnan didn't say anything. This was fine, he decided. He did however want to get down. Ugarth looked surprised to see him awake.

"Oh good, you're alive. When you didn't wake up after reviewing CPR I thought I'd have to bury you."

"You gave me CPR?"

"No," he lied, "a fish merchant did. You scared the hell out of him I guess." 

Sylnan gave half a smile and nudged Ugarth gently in the arm, "Thanks. For everything. Thank you."

"You do what you can," Ugarth shrugged. Despite everyone being ok and alive and together again, he refused to leave just yet. He kept his eyes on the kids and planned on continuing to do so until he was certain that both were safe inside whatever it was they called home.

Apparently home was a factory. Long since abandoned and falling apart just about everywhere. Only half finished. Sylnan shoved Br'aad inside.

Anyone who'd ever met Sylnan knew that he was relatively a calm dude. It took a lot to make him genuinely angry. For example, constant physical harm for a prolonged period of time pissed him off pretty badly, and Ugarth could attest to that. Br'aad had very rarely seen Sylnan get angry. He'd never seen Sylnan livid before. 

"What the fuck were you doing on a fucking boat full of strangers?"

"I was leaving to-"

"You were running away?! I'm gone for five hours and you decide to run away? Were you planning on this? Has this been in your mind for long? What am I not doing enough for you? What the fuck, Br'aad!"

Br'aad began to grow red in the face. He felt that his actions had been completely justified. No, he knew he was justified!

"You get to just take off for money all the time, why can't I?"

"Because I come back! I always come back!"

"Yeah, every other day maybe."

"And what about you, hm? When would you come back? A week? A month? A year? Huh? When, Br'aad, tell me! Would you have even come back at all? I can't fucking believe you, get up stairs and get into some dry clothes and then get your ass to bed."

Br'aad began to stomp up the stairs stopping only when he heard Sylnan muttering "ungrateful little shit," under his breath. He turned back around faster than he meant and fell with a thud, sending one of his shoes flying across the room. 

"You hate it here just as much as I do and ai had a way out and you took that from me! I could have lived a good life!"

"They were strangers in a circus! The clown tried to kill me several times! You really think a band of murdering clowns has the makings of a good life?"

"It's better than stealing for table scraps, Sylnan!"

"In what way is traveling overseas with actual murder clowns better than stealing?!"

Br'aad bunched his hair in his fists and had to keep himself from ripping it out by the handful. Sometimes he felt that Sylnan didn't actually know what it was he was saying and just liked the sound of his own fucking voice. It was infuriating!

"You never listen to me! You never let me do anything, I'm seven, Sylnan, I'm not stupid."

"No, Br'aad, you're not stupid"- Sylnan said with a sigh- "you just do stupid things which is why you're supposed to stay put, here, in this factory until I return so you can do your stupid shenanagins under some sort of supervision!"

"I don't need supervision! I can handle myself."

"Br'aad, you were almost kidnapped today. You damn near drowned about half a second later. Explain to me just how exactly that's handling yourself?!"

"I was fine until you came along." Br'aad spat under his breath. "You know sometimes you can be so-!" He trailed off there, not brave enough to say what he wanted. Sylnan cocked an eyebrow. He shifted his weight onto his other leg and gave his foot a tap.

"Sometimes I can be so what?"

Ugarth blew a breath of warm air out of his cheeks and began to slowly back out if the factory, "You know, maybe it's best I go-"

"Now, hold on, Ugarth, Br'aad thinks that I never listen. Well. I'm sure as shit listening now. We all are, Br'aad. Im. So. What?"

Br'aad was red in the face and practically viberating with rage. "Bull headed!" He said with a shriek. It felt good to get that off his chest. It brought a smile to his face. He was certain that his insult would be the conversation ender and was thrilled to have won an argument for once. 

Sylnan let out a sharp gasp, uncrossing his arms to put a hand to his chest in a feigned offence. He let in a trembling breath, and turned away from Br'aad. "Your words hurt me, Br'aad," he said in a hushed tone. Ugarth stared, mouth agape, and really starting to feel like maybe it was time to go, but way too invested and ashamedly interested to see where exactly this was heading. 

Sylnan took a few steps back, keeping his back turned to Br'aad, letting out a few muffled sounds that Ugarth wasn't sure was laughter or hiccuping sobs. 

"You're probably right. I am a bit...controlling, aren't I? Maybe you can take care of yourself." He slowly began to turn back around, a deep frown plastered about his face but there was no genuocity behind it. "Maybe you can go out and earn just under enough to afford what scraps the merchants were just going to throw out, or join the circus. Maybe you can fight tooth and tail to keep yourself afloat. You certainly don't need me anymore. Why, my whole life was taking care of you, but you've convinced me that I'm not needed anymore."

The fake tremor in his voice was gone completely then. He stepped outside, threw his arms out and shouted up into the sky, "You hear that, gods above? My work here is done! I am a free man once more. Take me home!"

He turned back towards the factory, well aware of the straggling eyes all turning to watch whatever conundrum was unfolding. He gave a deep, sarcastic bow to Br'aad, and a curtsy to Ugarth. He rightened himself out with an elegant little wave and once again his hand flew to his chest. 

"Good bye, friends and family, my earthly duties have met their end and so it seems have I. I just hope that whichever realm of the nine hells I get stranded in doesn't treat me nearly as unkind as you have, Br'aad." 

He put his other hand up to rest his wrist above his eyebrow and threw his head back with a gasping sob, "Oh gods, I see the light now! There it is. Oh! It's coming closer! It's so cold. Heart stopping. Breath leaving. I am-" he crumpled to the ground like a wet sack of sand and a hearty thud, "dead," he whispered before sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth and laying perfectly still there in the middle of the road. 

The few strangers who stopped to watch moved on, amused but not at all impressed. Ugarth stared, first at the unmoving Sylnan who was doing really well at holding his breath, then at Br'aad who's anger was dissipating bit by bit.

Br'aad crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, not at all convinced of Sylnan's death. He watched his idiot brother for a while, waiting to see when he'd crack open an eye to see if he'd fooled the younger one. He didn't. Br'aad's scowl faltered. It had been a solid minute and Sylnan still wasn't breathing yet. His mind ran back to just the earlier hour when he'd been dragged back to shore. He remembered how desperately Ugarth had fought to get air back into Sylnan's lungs, to get him breathing again. Suddenly Br'aad wasn't so sure how not dead Sylnan was. 

"Get off the floor, you're going to get all dirty," he shouted. He got no response. He shuffled from foot to foot. "This isn't funny, Sylnan, get up!" 

He didn't. 

Ugarth was absolutely floored by how quickly Br'aad had bought into this terrible act especially considering how skeptical he'd been in it's beginning. Sure enough, Br'aad slowly began approaching the inert body of his brother with tears starting to swell in his eyes.

"Sylnan?" He nudged his arm with his foot. "Sylnan?" He sank to his knees and gave his brother a gentle shake of the shoulders. Still he saw nothing, no change in his face, no twitch in his hands, no movement of his chest. Crying, he began shouting, "Sylnan please! No I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! Come back, I didn't mean it! I won't run away again, I promise! I'm sorry! You can't leave me here! No!"

Sylnan gasped, pulling as much air into his lungs as he could in one swift breath and sat up, startling Br'aad who lurched back. 

"No, I don't want to go back!" He paused, looked around, let his eyes settle on Br'aad and he sighed, "Son of a bitch." 

He pushed himself to his feet and regret it instantly as he hadn't been too kind to himself when he first flopped over, or in general all throughout this miserable day, and had definitely landed on his knee wrong. He dusted off the seat of his pants and shook his hair out of his face.

"There I was in the court of the gods waiting to see where I'd be sent when the Raven queen said to me, boy, your work amongst the living is not done. There's an idiot child back there who needs you. And I said no! No you can't send me back there, I'll do anything!"

Br'aad stared up at Sylnan with the blankest face he'd ever seen on the kid. All at once his own anger returned. He got up and stormed back inside, pausing only to shout, "Next time you die I hope you stay dead!"

"Next time I will!" Sylnan shouted back. He turned to Ugarth with a look that made Ugarth feel bad for laughing at. Truth be told, Ugarth wasn't entirely fond of the idea of Sylnan dying. Not at all. There was very little that Ugarth cared about in this world. Sylnan was one of the very rare things that he actually loved. He offered Sylnan an apologetic grin before signing.

"I'm glad you got him back. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sylnan watched Ugarth go finding himself suddenly missing his company. He didn't want to be alone in this factory with his brother. Not yet. The two hadn't fought in so long, he didn't know what to do or what to say. He stood outside for just a moment longer, wondering if it would be a good idea to try and board up the windows and get new locks on the doors to make sure this didn't happen again. Oh but what if there was a fire? Shit.


	10. Chapter Ten

Of all the days for Sylnan to actually get home before noon! He slammed his bedroom door shut with as much might as he could. When it lacked the thunderous boom he'd been going for, he opened it again just to slam it harder! He flopped onto his cot in a fit of tears. He bunched up his blanket close, creating a small nest to cradle him in. He missed his doll. He missed the carnival. He hated Sylnan! 

Sylnan slumped down at the table taking in a moment to let everything decompress. He held his head up in his hand. He didn't know what to do. It wasn't like he could just find someone to babysit for him. He couldn't take Br'aad with him. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He hated to think it but maybe...maybe leaving the orphanage was a bad idea. Maybe Br'aad was right. Maybe he did have a future ahead of him and Sylnan took it. He slowly looked up and let his eyes settle on the jug of milk he'd brought home only to abandon on the counter seconds later. It simply wasn't worth it. None of it was. 

So much for breakfast.

He pulled himself up to his feet after a while, keeping an ear out for Br'aad upstairs, ready to bolt at any slight creak in the floorboards. Br'aad didn't move. His weeping remained right where it was since he'd slammed the door. It only stopped when Br'aad had worn himself out and fallen asleep. Sylnan made some lunch and set the plates down on the table. He knew that Br'aad would smell it and wander on down no matter how upset he was, he just had to give him time.

However upset the brothers were, it had nothing on the clown a little ways away. The beast paced back and forth of the shambling ship. He'd been so careful! So patient! Everything had been perfect from the puppets to the games to the nicknames! He'd down everything right, he'd gotten so close and still the child got away. Times were tough for the old, begotten god. His name was etched out of old tablets replaced with new ones. His bissage had been forgotten, his powers were dwindling. It had taken him ages to find someone, anyone, who could see him and of all the people roaming this wretched world it had to be some idiot kid!? He was thankful for that at first. Children are much easier to mold than adults, they'll believe anything you tell them, they trust so willingly. It had been easy luring Br'aad out into the open, all it took was a clown, the promise of fun and joy, and a pair of shoes. How in the nine hells did he lose him? To another child no less! And how did that intruder survive? He clawed at his own being in rage, he was too weak to kill a stupid kid. He needed Br'aad. He needed the other one gone.

Thunder rolled along the length of the gathered clouds. It ricocheted off of the distant mountains and shattered the silence that smothered the wharf. The first of the rain began to fall in thick droplets that landed with a heft splat. The winds were strong enough to bend the trees nearly in half. It wasn't long before the shores and piers became flooded. The only savior for the town was the hill that it rested upon. 

Br'aad woke up to the sound of the tin roof ripping itself apart. A few droplets splattered against his nose. He groaned a bit, rolling over onto his side, not exactly feeling up to the task of moving his cot. He watched the window and wondered how well his friends were weathering the storm. For a second he entertained the idea of sneaking out again. He figured it wouldn't be to hard. Oh but then Sylnan would hear him. Unless he learned how to time his moments with the thunder and the winds. He tested his abilities, setting a solitary foot down on the floor and listening for it's usual creak. He glanced back at the door half expecting it to swing open. When it didn't he took another step. And another. And another. Running away again would have been easy at this pace. But where would he go? He supposed he could go to the library but he certainly wouldn't be able to stay there. It wasn't like he had any friends, he had no one to turn to in such a time. No one other than Sylnan of course. He never made it to his window. That plan was doomed from the beginning and he knew it. Instead he plucked his books from their hiding spot and returned to bed.

He opened up to the spot where the thin strip of fabric slept and returned once more to the familiar world with the glass rabbit. When he last left off, the rabbit had narrowly avoided his demise by the prowling coyote, unaware that he was ever in any danger much to Br'aad's dismay. Now the rabbit was safe inside of a small shoebox, passing the time with a housecat who's lost his house and the people who lived in it. While neither the cat nor the glass rabbit was happy about their situations, Br'aad was glad that both were safe and dry and with one another. For a second he was so caught up in the pages beneath his eyes that he forgot about the situation with the clown, and the mishap at the boat, and how angry he was. 

Until of course the narrative of his story returned once more to focus on the coyote. Miles away still from the rabbit and the cat, but not out of mind. It stared off towards the grey, rising smoke emanating from the small fire keeping the cat and the glass rabbit warm. That fire was a homing beacon to his prey. And however bright it burned now, that fire wouldn't last forever, soon they'd be left in the dark and the coyote would know exactly where they were and the hunt would be on again. 

Sylnan gave the door a soft knock, so soft that it barely registered at all. He peeked his head inside almost dreading what he would find and relaxed once he spotted Br'aad half hanging off his bed with a book in his hands.

"Hey," he called out gently, "I made dinner. It's surprise pasta. Are you hungry?"

"No. I'm not."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

Br'aad was quiet this time. He was. He was hungry and he was angry and he had every right to be! He shuffled so that he didn't have to face Sylnan anymore and slouched over his book. He didn't even hear Sylnan cross the length of their room. All of a sudden the space to his left sank and Sylnan was just there. 

"I'm sorry," he began, "that I'm not home enough. I'm sorry that I yelled at you. I'm sorry that I can't provide for you what they could have. And....I'm sorry I took that from you. I understand if you're angry. I'll be down stairs if you want to yell at me back. Please eat something though." He slid the plate next to Br'aad's leg and got up to leave. He closed the door ever so quietly behind him. 

It sounded as though the sky was falling outside the way it crashed and beat against the world. It was still early, he knew this, and yet all he could see outside was nothing more than a sky full of false stars, raindrops twinkling with the scattered lanterns lit or candles burning. Any other day and he would have been thrilled with the weather. It was rare that he got to be a little kid. The only exception to this was when it got too gloomy for people to be out and about. Typically he'd forget his shoes and jacket inside and run outside as wild and free as the elk that would migrate past during the winter. He'd splash in every single last puddle and make mud statues. The next morning he'd be as sick as a dog. That never bothered him. He never learned. He'd do it again and again without fail. 

Sylnan didn't get to be excited about new toys or rush off to go play with friends. There was always work to be done now and it never ended. The only break he got was when he was asleep and even then he was in the clock. He had to listen for intruders, keep an ear out for Br'aad, make sure they were safe. It was exhausting. 

He grabbed his own plate and took a seat in front of the fireplace. He wanted to start a fire, it was starting to get cold, but he couldn't be bothered. They were running low on fire wood anyway, he needed to save up what all they had left. He pulled his jacket about himself as a blanket and just laid there. He was so tired. So very tired. 

He stared into the empty darkness that surrounded him. For a second he hoped that he'd fall asleep and when he woke back up he'd be back in that room with his mom. She'd be at her desk brushing her hair and reciting from memory one of her favorite poems. He'd hear a soft knock on the window just seconds before the man climbed inside with a big goofy grin. He'd hand Sylnan a new trinket. Last time it was a white hat several sizes too big. He still had the hat. It was somewhere upstairs. But those moments, those memories, the means to make more of them were gone. He knew that. There was no point in wishing otherwise. 

He heard the bedroom door open and the slight groan of the stairs. He didn't move. Once he'd laid down to rest his body gave up on him. Everything hurt too much to move. Br'aad hovered in the hallway for a moment. He hobbled over to take a seat next to his brother, draping the blanket he'd dragged along over both of them before curling into a ball by Sylnan's shins.

"I'm sorry too. For running away."

Sylnan hummed and for a second the two were quiet. "What were you doing upstairs?" 

"Reading."

"I didn't know you could read."

"I'm not very good at it still but I like it. It's fun."

"You should read to me sometime then." And he was quiet again. He shut his eyes, hoping to let sleep take him away but his mind was awake and turning and rumbling away loudly. Sometimes he could have sworn half of the thoughts in his head weren't even his. "Do you want to go to school, Br'aad?"

Br'aad was quiet. School wasn't free. It was fifty gold per trimester, extra sometimes. It was free in the orphanage but most of what they taught was strange rhetoric for a god Br'aad couldn't even remember the name of anymore. He squirmed, battling between his want to learn and his fear of being a burden.

"If you promise not to run away anymore," Sylnan slurred, "I promise I'll get you into school. But you have to promise!"

Br'aad sat up excitedly, "I promise! I promise!"

"You also have to do all of your homework. And unless you're getting tutored you're to come straight home. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes! Yes we have a deal!"

Sylnan snuggled into the floor, shutting his eyes at long last and letting the buzzing chaos that was his mind run wild without much care. "Ok. Tomorrow we'll see if I can get you enrolled."

He was out cold maybe seconds after that. Brad's didn't seem to notice however as he began ranting and raving about how good he was going to be and how much he was going to help out around the house and how cool he thought books were and how he was figuring out elvish pretty good and how even the librarian said so. He talked on endlessly and only stopped when he, like his brother, passed out right there on the floor in front of the unlit fire. 

Somewhere off in the distance a coyote gave out her howl into the long and terrible night, baring the storm on her own as such a creature often must. Her howl was cut short, by a blast of thunder.

Jaquot eyed Ugarth from across the table. Neither boy was exactly happy to see the other. Ugarth had had a trying day with more downs than ups and more stress than he'd like to admit. He wanted to drink and rest and pretend none of it had happened. Jaquot didn't like the den. It was messy and the patrons were unsightly, and the brawling was constant. He could do little to save himself from sitting on a stangly sticky bench without getting his arm twisted behind his back. He took solace in seeing at least one familiar face but that's about as far as that went. It had to be Ugarth, didn't it?

"I heard about what happened today down by the docks."

"Is that right?"

"Why did you go and do a thing like that to yourself?" The question was genuine. It startled Ugarth a bit. Since his return all he'd gotten was insulted and joked about. They would ask him the same question in different ways. It was always judgmental, entertained, embarrassed even. Never genuine. 

"What?"

"Why did you save the kids?" He held up a hand before Ugarth could speak, though he had no need as Ugarth didn't know what to say. "I understand that the older one is your apprentice. So helping him in the tunnels with that terrible ankheg was business as usual seeing as your life was in danger as well. But his personal life has nothing for you to lose or gain. So why involve yourself in it? Why did you go with him to the docks? Why did you save him?"

Ugarth grabbed his tray and got up. He didn't have to explain himself to someone who couldn't fucking pronounce "apprentice" right. His reasons were his own. 

"I meant no offence, friend. All I'm saying is the second you decide to care for something is the same second someone decides to destroy it. You're a skilled man, I'd hate to see that skill go to waste over some half breed."

"I'm a half breed so watch your mouth. Don't ever call me your friend again." He left muttering a sarcastic, "Thanks for the advice." 

Admittedly that wasn't how Jaquot wanted that conversation to go. But he didn't care enough to chase after the older boy to try and fix anything. He eyed his surroundings. This place was a wreck, disposable and despicable. And absolutely bubbling with potential. He was starting to see why a castle born brat would be so drawn to it. He wolfed down the rest of his meal before jumping to his feet. He had so much work to do and not enough time to do it.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Literary Devices

Kathrine had a dainty little song floating about her lips. She bounced down the stairs with a hand full of her own hair, struggling to untangle her fingers from the hastey braid she'd put it up in. Her father welcomed her warmly with a hummed hello. She skipped down to the sink, pouring a little more water into the vase with the wilting hyacinth flower given to her ages ago. It had long since browned and sagged and still she worked as hard as she could to cling to it and the beauty it once held. 

The wharf wasn't exactly what most people would consider the best place on earth. It was in fact far from it. The people living in its walls were all so poor that they started considering basic necessities as luxuries they could only ever dream of having. Unobtainable. Few could afford a home with a sound roof, even fewer could find the cash to eat more than once every other day. All this to say, despite it's crumbling appearances Kathrine was one of the lucky ones. The bakery was a popular site, and every day they would sell out of their stock and retire happy and hopeful. They weren't rich, by no means at all were they rich, but they were comfortable and happy and in a place as dismal as the wharf "comfortable" was as close as one could get to rich.

That said, Kathrine went to an all girls school, complete with stuffy uniforms made up if dull greys and greens, plated, stiff skirts, shoes that pinched her toes, buttoned up blouses and a lovely little hat that if she didn't keep clean and pristine she'd get lashed. Her hands were still bruised from last week when the wind storm stole away with her hat on her way in. She hardly thought it was fair, the hats never stayed out on their heads and she had over two miles to walk. She didn't have time to run home and clean it after it fell in the mud. 

She was taught to keep her back straight and   
speak lightly and only when spoken to. They called it proper etiquette. She called it obedience training for the perfect housewives of the next generation. Their reading was limited, the stories all contained the same plot line, the woman followed the man's every word and should she stray she got punished severely. The men were smart and heroic and charming, at least the girls were all told such by their teachers, no matter what happened in the story. Perhaps most infuriating was when Lady Naomi of Padumauck met the blessed little stable boy who was too shy to meet her eye and polite and goofy, who treated her as an equal and not as a being beneath him. The boy was slaughtered for this. And lady Naomi of Padumauck married his murderer as though they'd always been in love. As if Kathrine hadn't read over 213 pages of the blooming love between Lady Naomi and the stable boy. 

The other girls bought into this trash rapidly. They berated and belittled her when she spoke out against it. At some point one of her own teachers had scolded her, and when she grew the nerve to defend herself, he took the switch and beat her till she couldn't walk. She got stuck with cleaning duty for a month. 

If there was one thing that school taught her, it was that this wretched place couldn't break her. Her mind again drifted to the strange boy who was too shy to meet her eye. She thought of the stable boy that lady Naomi met. She doubted that she'd ever again meet another boy who didn't talk to her like she was stupid, who's try to win her forgiveness a year later, unprompted and try to do so secretly, wanting no reward, nothing in return. She wanted nothing more than to keep the hope that the boy was still out there, that there are others like him out there, alive. So even though the flower has long since died, she got up every morning to give it more water, desperate to keep the dead thing alive. 

"I'm off to school, daddy."

"Be safe, and hey! You tell that rat bastard that if he takes a switch to you again I'll take my ax to him."

"I've already told him, daddy."

"Well tell him again! That rotten some of a bitch has a bad habit of not listening to those smarter than him, so you'll have to tell him twice." He placed a quick kiss to the top of his daughters head before placing her hat in its wake. "Have a good day, darlin' dinner will be ready when you get back."

She secured her hat about her head again all too aware that it was only going to take off on its own in about four or so minutes. She clutched her books tight beneath her arm as she was sick and tired of getting punished for toting them about in a bag, as most sane people would do when they have a bunch of awkward gadgets and books, but apparently carry bags were "unlady like" and unsightly. Which was stupid. Still she'd been told to pick her battles and she had decided to do exactly that. So this one rule would slide for now.

She met up with Delighla about half a mile out still. They spoke of many things as they walked and at the same time they spoke of nothing. At least nothing of interest for Kathrine. Try as she might the conversation always circled right in back to boys. 

Typically it revolved around Aster and his brooding eyes, Micheal and his big strong hands, and Judis with that half cocked grin of his. See Kathrine figured that the others would only ever talk about boys because all their lives they'd been led to believe that nothing in life mattered more than marrying one and starting a family. But of all the boys Delighla wanted to talk about she chose those three? And of their features she chose those? Firstly, Asters eyes were fine but they weren't anything compared to his jaw line. Secondly, Michael's hands were hardly big and certainly not strong. Besides it was his smart ass jokes that kept the girls coming back. And Judis's grin was ok but it couldn't possibly compare to his phenomenal ass! 

"Ask him out then," she said hoping it would shut Delighla up once and for all. In a way it did. Mostly because Delighla was slack jawed in offense and bewilderment.

"They were right about you. You truly are a wild child!"

The girl then went on scolding Kathrine of their roles in society. More malarkey and lies. Kathrine couldn't be mad at her idiot companion, it wasn't her fault she was this stupid. She pitied her. 

Instead of listening to Delighla ramble on about the importance of being the perfectly compliant young women they were supposed to be, Kathrine focused on the mud. The storm had ravished the wharf. Hail the size of fists had clobbered roof tops. Half the trees were without their branches, all of them had been ripped asunder, left naked and barren without their leaves and a solid portion of their bark. More than half the ward was a cozy foot beneath water. It had certainly been a terrible storm, but not the worst she'd seen. She watched the mud puddles, soupy and thin, swirling with the carcasses of the tattered leaves and splintered twigs. It reminded her of a stew almost. Like the kind her mother used to make. 

She could almost smell it, the broth bubbling in its dented pot, bouncing chuncks of potatoes and carrots and onions. The sizzling beef. She could almost smell the lavender perfume her mother would wear in rare and special occasions. She could smell it all, but not a single image came fluttering to her head. Try as she might, she couldn't recall a single insignificant detail about her mother, what she looked like at least. 

For a moment, she was sad again, but only for a moment. She looked back towards the road, putting the thoughts of stews and mother's behind herself to try and focus on what lay ahead for her and was startled to see that same odd boy who'd gifted her the flower some few weeks ago. A smile caught her lips, one that did not go unnoticed by Delighla. Her heart fluttered when he turned and gave a sheepish grin back. 

He was walking towards her, struggling to carry some groceries wrapped up precariously in a ratty old blanket. A tall, scrawny half orc trailed just a little ways behind him muttering to himself and toying with a keg roughly the size of himself. 

"I mean look at this thing! In what world could I possibly find the means to fill it? Do you...do you think I could wear it?"

"What, like a suit?"

"No! On my back. Like a satchel but you know, for mead."

Sylnan stopped walking and dangered a glance over the stack of beets towards Ugarth. The look on his face was a troublesome blend of irritation, mild fear, discomfort, and disbelief. He turned away only when he felt the radishes starting to slip. 

"Think of how heavy that would be."

"And convenient!"

"And akward."

"And awsome!"

"And funny looking-" Ugarth smacked him. Something's never changed. 

"I'll make it look bad ass! I always do! You have no sense of fashion."

That wasn't true at all! He lived with Br'aad, he knew more about the latest trends than he cared to admit. None of it he learned willingly, mind you, but he knew it nonetheless! Right now, simple, frilly frocks tucked in at the waist was all the rage, especially for men if the first three buttons or so we're left open. Boots with a little oopmph in the heel that stopped just above the knee? In. Only the most sensible gentlemen were wearing them and everyone who was anyone knew that! Colorful sashes were being worn in place of belts, tied in a simple knot and left to let the slightly opaque fabric billow with the winds. Then there was women's fashion! Dresses with simple sleeves that buttoned near the rust, not too poofy but not as sleek as a night gown might be either. Short enough to expose the foot but not scandalous enough to display the ankle. Lace socks were currently what was in, with simple black pumps. That was almost standard. What wasn't standard, and currently all Br'aad had to talk about, was the way girls were accessorizing! It was all in the hair, delicate and intricate braids looped with simple golden chains or ran through with flowers of all sorts, very popular amongst the noble women. Simpler girls however took to a flowing sashe to wear as a cape of sorts, often hand knitted, with small details most would expect to find in doilies. They'd use that to emphasize the even more complicated headbands they'd started wearing. Kegs? As backpacks? Not fashionable. Sylnan knew that for a fact.

"How do you intend to do that then?"

"I'll figure it out." Now Ugarth had no intention of actually using the keg as either a fashion piece or as a satchel, hed only been joking but the second Sylnan called it dumb was the same second he decided that he was actually going to do exactly that and prove the brat wrong. Again. 

Sylnan stumbled, unable to save one of the radishes but trying regardless only to drop the apples and the limes. He muttered a curse and struggled to start collecting everything back up again, pretending that he didn't just hear Ugarth say, "Bet you wish you had a keg right about now, huh?" 

Kathrine hitched up her skirt and moved to gather the limes that had rolled away. Delighla was astonished! And yet not at all surprised. Of all the lovely young ladies over at Padink's School For Girls, it would be none other than Kathrine who'd go mucking about in the mud for fun. Kathrine placed the gathered limes in the sprawled out blanket. 

"Snatch these too did you?" She teased. Sylnan brought a finger to his lips and shushed her past a small grin. He did. And he was very proud of himself for it too! She giggled, startled by his honesty and amused by his lack of shame. "Do you intend to give the shopkeep a flower for their troubles this time next year too then?"

"Gods above no! I know it might be hard to understand but some people deserve to be robbed. You didn't. He does -Thank you." 

"Still don't have the money for bread, do we?"

"I can afford to ask my friend for a bite of his if that says anything."

"And I'd say no," Ugarth snapped quickly. "When did you find the time to grab a cabbage?" 

Kathrine pushed Sylnan's hands away so that she could properly wrap the groceries up so they would come falling down again. She was used to this sort of work as she did it rather often. Usually with flour, eggs, and grains. The large lumpy shapes she had before her were a new challenge, but nothing she couldn't handle. She handed the hand made travel sack over. 

"There. No more accidents." 

"I mean no offense on your part but don't be so sure. I am quite skilled at making a disaster of simple things." 

Kathrine stared at him for a moment. She stared at how the wind had tossed his hey black curls in every which way, how messy it was, how free. He struggled to keep it out of his eyes when he spoke with her. That too made her smile as during the beginning of their conversation he'd been unable to even glance at her face, looking away shyly and focusing on his own feet instead. She liked his eyes. She couldn't describe them, as every single last character in her books were depicted with fair eyes, all blue. His were swirls of cinnamon and nutmeg in pools of honey. These things she studied, memorizing for just a moment, slowly starting to understand why her books were so obsessed with these simple, silly features. 

She extended a hand, baren if the gloves she was supposed to wear. "Kathrine," she said at last. He took it tenderly, as if scared that he'd hurt her or that the mud in his hands would stain her. 

"My friends call me Sylnan."

"Because that's your name dill weed!" Ugarth interupted. "Listen kid, this is heavy and I'm tired, let's get a move on, you can play with your new friend later." He popped Sylnan on the head with the edge of the keg to encourage him to start walking again. For a second more, he didn't. His hand fell away from hers, letting it hover for just a moment before once again holding up his groceries and moving on. 

Kathrine watched him for a second, her eyes slowly falling to his hips. She bit her lip in delight. He had a nice butt too! And all at once her smile vanished when she made eye contact with the scowling Delighla.

"I hope you're going to wash your hands. That boy was so filthy you probably got a disease just by looking at him!" 

Now Kathrine was a strange girl for many reasons. In the eyes of her peers, it was her stubbornness. In the eyes of her turots, it was her unyielding spirit. She was odd beyond that too, and she knew that fact very well. She glared daggers after Delighla. For years she'd put up with the names and the judgments and the brainless blabberings. She clenched her fist and all she did was think about how funny it would be if the stuck up girl got splattered in mud, how ironic almost poetic it would be. She just thought it. She didn't even move. And yet about eight feet away Delighla's foot swung out from under her as though some invisible creature was trying to make off with her shoe and the horrid child landed face first into a mud puddle a little too close to the garbage bins. She wasn't just splattered in mud she was soaked in it! From her perfect, golden curls to her dainty little shoes! Kathrine was...well she was frightened for a second, but the fear fled the moment she saw Delighla's stupid look on her face and start bawling, loud and unsightly for all to see. She couldn't help but laugh. 

As she walked past the wailing girl she sneered a quick, "I hope you intend to wash your hands, you're so filthy I could get a disease just by looking at you." Today was going to be a good day, she could already tell.

The Baker, now about three miles away, had begun his usual tidying up. After the death of his wife, he'd found most of his day taken up by either the store down stairs or cleaning up stairs. The smell of the rolls was thick in the air. Almost suffocatingly so. He hobbled down just to ensure he'd remembered to close the oven door and froze in the door way. Kathrine had forgotten to rush her little flower upstairs. She did this every now and again and that was fine. He liked seeing small reminders of her throught his day. But he could have sworn it was dead, had been dead for some time. There it stood, up right and brighter than ever, and very much alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has lots of mistakes doesn't it? How fun


	12. Chapter Twelve: Not as Planned

The tavern was empty despite the hour. The bartender himself was slouched in the corner, distanced away from his moody regulars, busying himself with a sticky spot on the counter with a rag that really wasn't doing anything aside from making the mystery mess worse. The few lanterns in the bar weren't even lit, the only light illuminating the entire place poured from the small window leading back to the kitchens and from the browning windows. 

Mrs. Buchanan sat half slumped at the bar. She stared into her mug and frowned at the partial reflection of her sad, old face. 

She used to be young, she thought to herself, beautiful too. She used to be the envy of all. She used to have suitors all getting in line just to ask for her hand in marriage and she had turned them all down save for one. He was mean and nasty now. He was hardly home and when he was home he was usually with another, younger girl in their shared bed. She'd loved him once. He'd loved her too. That was long, long ago. She hated him every bit as much as he hated her and both of them were perfectly fine with living with that. At least, that's what she told herself. 

She'd been inspired once before. She saw beauty and wonder in every face that walked the streets. She had been the bright and bubbly little school teacher known and loved by all. That was before the kids started getting older, before their attitudes and before their disrespect. She was tired. She was grumpy. She had been a wonderful teacher in her youth, sometimes the ghost of that girl can manage to climb past what the world did to her. But it seemed that recently, that girl she'd been so long ago, was dead and gone for good. 

She sighed heavily. It was late, this she knew, and she should probably be getting home. But she had no want to go home. Nothing good would be waiting for her there. So she let the time slip past her, second by second, until they turned to hours. 

The door opened with a soft clang of the overhead bell. In stepped a gentleman who looked every bit as old and tired as herself, every bit as hopeless and worn. He took his seat beside her and she offered him a knowing smile. 

"You look like shit," she said bluntly.

"I feel like it," he answered before waving the bartender over for a drink. When the tender reached for a glass, he slapped a healthy portion of silver down on the table and motioned for the whole bottle. Not in the mood to argue, the bartender slid it over, pocketing the money and returned to his sticky spot. "Kids these days," he sighed before knocking the bottle back. He pulled it away from his lips with a heavy sigh and scowled, "they ruin everything."

"I'll drink to that!"

"They're messy and loud and they get into everything and they don't listen and they break things and they smell bad- I've never met a kid who doesn't smell like they just slept with the pigs- and they're idiots! All of them!"

Mrs. Buchanan nodded after each complaint. She chuckled at the mention of the pigs remembering one particular little kid who used to snort when he laughed. Wendle, if her memory served her right. He used to be a stout little thing. Not so much anymore. Still snorts. 

"You sound like a man who has to work with them. What as?"

"Don't laugh, I'm a clown." 

She nudged the bottle back into his hands silently urging him to drink some more as there was little she could say without offending him. He seemed to understand and obliged quickly. 

"I do everything for those brats. I dance and I sing. I stand in my hands and balance on things people should be balancing on. I ache and I'm not as limber anymore but I'm still out there, still performing so they can laugh and forget about their shity lives for a moment and what do I get in return? Kicked in the shins! They piss on my tent, they steal my tips, they-they kidnap my pets! We were on a boat and this brat came swimming up and just...took him. Who does that?"

"Children," said Mrs. Buchanan with a slur calling over another round for herself, "are godless."

"That they are."

"At least you don't have to try and teach them. Could you imagine trying to get those little heathens to sit quietly for a minute let alone seven hours? It's maddening!"

"I bet it is, Mrs. Buchanan."

"And they dont actually care, they think you're a bastard for taking them away from their friends and their games. They don't seem to care that I'm trying to help them."

"Do you have a full class, Mrs. Buchanan?"

"A bit. We're one of the less fortunate schools, our funding isn't as plentiful as it is over at Padink's School For Girls. I teach three grades all at the same time."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full."

"It would be fine if they quit giving me more students all throughout the year. Got another one three days ago. Uh Brendan, Baxer, Bart, Bradly-"

"Br'aad?"

"That's the one! Dumber than a box of rocks that one but at least he tries." 

The man cracked a smile and the room fell still. The man took a second just to memorize the woman before him, every last little wrinkle in her hands, her crows feet, the mole on her neck, the tones of grey in her thin hair. It wasn't the most appealing meat suit he'd worm but it would have to do. He let out a soft sigh and watched the skin around his hands tighten and age until they were every bit as knobby and as calloused as hers. He grinned, finding the resemblance uncanny and darling at the same time! They could practically be twins. Time resumed, Mrs. Buchanan was not at his side, not any more. The gods above only knew where she went. 

He got up from his seat at the bar and left just as quickly as he came. Behind him he could hear the faint, "See you tomorrow, Mr. Buchanan." 

Sylnan watched the water shatter beneath the weight of the rock Ugarth had hurled. They'd already made their rounds, met back up with the farmer, pick pocketed unsuspecting fools, the usual. Their haul hadn't been too grand, nothing at all worth bragging about for sure, but it was enough to keep them going. That was more than either of them could ask for.

For the longest time, Ugarth had struggled to "go hunting" on his own. He was too large and intimidating for people to take their eyes off of. His stealing came from the bar fights he'd intentionally start. In a mess of flying fists and spat blood, he'd snag a coin purse, a trinket, anything shiny. Then he'd stagger off pretending to be drunk and usually people would leave him alone after that. This typically meant that he walked off with more bruises than coin. That gets really tiring after a while. He found that having Sylnan around doubled their chances. They had some tricks they liked to pull. 

They had "bully", which was essentially Ugarth would start heckling Sylnan in public until a brave, kind hearted stranger came to stop him, and they always did. Sylnan could look incredibly pathetic if he wanted, small and teary eyed, trembling up a storm. It was quite an act. After the hero chased Ugarth away, Sylnan would hug his savior in thanks before running off leaving the good soul none the wiser that the small child just stole off with their wallet. 

Then there was "lost" where the two would pretend to be out of towners, traveling by boat and stopping here because they were in dire need of supplies. While looking, bickering all the while, they'd stop some poor fools doing their shopping and ask them for directions to one place clear across town. One of them would keep the shopper in a deep complicated conversation, and usually that was Sylnan's job. He would explain that he was unable to understand the scribbles in the signs and "common" wasn't Ugarth's first language so he didn't know what half of these words looked like written out, and he'd need landmarks. Ugarth all the while would start plucking groceries, money, and jewelry from off of the shopper. The two would start bickering with one another upon getting directions and start to head off. 

They were getting better at their acting, better at their lies, they were getting good. They were becoming quite the pair and it was paying off. Ugarth didn't mean for things to get this far. He wanted to just show Sylnan the basics, assist for a little while until Sylnan felt comfortable enough to do things on his own. Unfortunately, he'd gotten comfortable instead. He didn't want to send Sylnan away, he didn't want to go back to the bars fighting, quite literally, for some pitiful copper pieces and broken ribs. 

Sylnan on the other hand had gotten brave. He figured he didn't need Ugarth's constant supervision. After the two would part ways, he'd try his hand solo. He had to be a bit more creative with who he chose and how he approached them. He never got as much as he did when Ugarth was around but therein laid the issue: Ugarth wasn't going to be around forever, both of them knew that. They'd both been told that this partnership was a temporary gig as Ugarth's skills were valued elsewhere. Sylnan knew that he'd have to be ready for that. He was starting to think maybe he was. 

Ugarth picked up another big rock and slung it in to the river with a grunt. Sylnan brought an arm up to try and shield his face from the splash back two seconds too late earning a hearty laugh from Ugarth. 

Kathrine could see them both from the window of her classroom. They were little blurs of color just beyond the garden, the field, and on the other side of the river. Earlier the two had been swimming, or rather one of them fell in and the other decided it looked fun and that's what the two did for a solid hour. It looked fun. She envued them. For a moment she let herself wonder what it was to be free like that. She'd turned to her books hoping that any of them would offer even a hint as to what it was like, but they were all the same: a young woman bound to her duties no matter what. It seemed enjoying life for what it was worth simply wasn't worth writing about. 

"Kathrine!"

She snapped her attention away from the window, forgetting about her dreary books all at once. Professor Goodman had the nastiest scowl scrawled across this sagging face. It looked as though his lips had melted, only their middle remained in place simply because of his narrow nose holding them aloft. 

"Present."

"Are you now? Then I don't suppose you'd be opposed to answering my question."

"Actually sir, I am opposed, thank you."

The class was in shock. Twelve pairs of beady eyed blown wide open burned holes through her skin and she did her best to shrug it off to no avail. But her father was a good man, a strong man, and he'd done well to raise his daughter to be every bit as strong as he. So she maintained her posture, kept her uninterested sneer, and dared not drop her gaze from that of her teacher. He, in turn, was growing redder by the second. If he continued on like that, she'd worry he'd stain! What a sight that would be. 

"I beg your pardon?" He hissed.

"Then beg." 

She heard someone gasp. She was certain it was Mariam, she was always one for the dramatics. Her heart was racing in her chest. In all of her books she'd never read about the heroine fighting back against anything! She had nothing to tell her if she was doing this right. Nothing to warn her of the consequences, no real way of knowing how this would turn out and that! That was what it meant to be free. She pulled herself closer to her desk and rested on her elbows, earning more glares from the girls on all sides of her. 

"You've earned yourself seven lashings-!"

"I must warn you sir, any mark you leave on me my father will leave on you in triplicate."

"Your father couldn't lift a flabby arm without that heart of his surrounded by a hog of lard giving out! Furthermore, how dare you threaten me! Twenty lashing!"

"Violence for violence breeds beasts before beauties." She felt clever quoting their current reading assignment like that. Which was good because she was also pissed that this sorry excuse of a man just insulted her wonderful and loving father. "Regardless, I do believe even a dead man could drag your ass through the dirt." That quote was her own. And she was just as proud of having said it too. 

The man thundered over to her. The other girls shrank back and away terrified that, should their professor see them, that he'd unleash his wrath upon them instead. He had a bad habit of doing so. However his hatred for the disrespectful girl by the window held his rage captive completely. For the time being, the other young ladies were safe. 

There's an instinct, a very important one, that we're all born with, called fight or flight. Which is exactly as it sounds. When faced with danger, our bodies demand that we ensure our survival either by running from the danger, or fighting it somehow. Perhaps that was why Kathrine got to her feet so quickly. Maybe this instinct could explain why every last hair on her head was standing upright. Her fist was clenched, her leg twitched, but strangely enough her heart rate had slowed to an alarming degree.

She wanted more than anything for him to feel the same amount of pain he was about to unleash upon her. No. She wanted him to feel more.

All at once she felt her body lurch forward. She watched the floor rush up to meet her face and she shut her eyes expecting the sharp sting of the tile hitting her nose but found none. When she dared open her eyes again, she was moving, not too unlike a snake, along the floor at a rapid and uneven pace towards the professor who had stopped moving completely. The bead of sweat in his brow didn't dare move either. Nor did the switch in his hand, the three tails still suspended in air. All of it, his scalding eyes, the threat of violence, it all vanished from her sight. She found herself at a table with a single plate prepared. The food adorning it was lackluster and distasteful. A woman, frail in stature, sat across from her and she looked every bit as angry as her professor had. 

She was chewing loudly on her dry chicken, looking up from her plate only to shoot a scathing glare towards Kathrine. She didn't recognize this woman, and yet despite that she somehow knew her name, how she liked her eggs in the morning, that her grey hair used to be a stunning Auburn that used to flow down her back in spirals. Mother. That's what she instinctively wanted to call her. 

"Can't do anything right," she griped through a mouthful of peas, "Never could." She took a swig from a wooden cup and pulled it back just to hack up a lung immediately after. "Your father would have some choice words for you."

She moved to take another bite but the fork never did reach her mouth as she dissipated into the air like ink in water. In her place was another woman, this one younger, with her blonde hair tied into a neat, round bun at the top of her head. She wore a simple gown, and again while this woman was a stranger on the street to Kathrine, she knew that her name was Tabitha, that she used to hum when she cooked, that she would lock herself away in the study and cry till sunrise. Now here she was, dangling by a rope besides the desk, the note she'd written placed perfectly in the center of the desk admist a sea of books and loose parchment paper. A wave of guilt began to choke her. She didn't have to read the letter. She knew it was only going to read three simple words: it's your fault. 

She was gone just as fast as the old woman was and Kathrine found herself back at her desk, still standing, still frowning, still shaking. Professor Goodman stopped in his tracks just to burst into tears. He sank to his knees and wept loudly. Kathrine just stared, still not entirely certain what all she just saw and not sure what it was she was seeing now. Slowly she took her seat and went back to her school work. Bit by bit the other girls followed suit. There was no noise for the rest of the day aside from the ugly sobbing of their professor still on the floor. 

When classes ended, the girls packed up and tiptoed around their professor, not one offered him a hand up. More than half didn't even glance his way. The one thing all the girls had in common as they departed from their classroom was the fact that not one of them felt sorry for him. Well, none save for Kathrine, who hesitated in the doorway a moment. What she'd seen felt too really to have been imagined, the emotions tied to them were too heavy. She tried to tell herself that her mind had just run away with her again. That was the only reasonable explanation. There was no way in all the realms that she somehow managed to read her professors thoughts, let alone see his most painful memories. Yeah, she thought with a sigh, she'd imagined it. 

She turned her attention back to the river, hoping against all hope that she'd spot the strange beggar boy and his even stranger orc friend still throwing rocks half the size of them into the rapid moving waters. She smiled seeing that they were still there. Though it wasn't rocks the orc was tossing anymore. She'd turned just in time to see him fling the beggar boy instead. They were still real. She hadn't imagined them. Good.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: The Glass Rabbit

The two had long since finished their meal. The dishes had already been washed and out away. Sylnan slumped in the corner whittling away as a branch he'd found outside into a sort of make-shift spear. Br'aad lounged in the window, kicking his feet in time with the small gusts of wind that would push past. 

"What if they return, asked Socks. He stared at the blackened beams that once held the roof aloft and the glass rabbit stared with him. Bravely, he whispered the words the cat was too afraid to admit. 'They aren't coming back.' Socks knew, in his heart he'd always known, still he'd hoped.

"I can still hear them, you know. The little one used to laugh when I ran in circles. The gentle one used to yell when I got on to the table. Now they're screaming. The laughter has lasted me, I worry that the screaming will too.

"The glass rabbit was silent for he knew not what to say. He could only be sad. He leaned into the soft fur of his friend and the two were sad together making both feel just a little bit better. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed when Socks at last got back onto all four paws. It was time to let it go." 

Br'aad read quietly, loud enough still so that Sylnan could hear, but soft enough so that the passing strangers outside couldn't. His voice had grown hoarse in the passing hours. He'd pause only to try and sooth the itch at the very base of his tongue with a sip of water. He'd ran out of water some few chapters ago and still his hand would bring the glass to his lips as if this time something would be there. There never was. He'd set his cup down and firget this fact to repeat the act perhaps two pages later.

"He was standing in the overhanging shadow of the foothills. The smell of smoke still stung his nose. Ahead of him stood a town still nestled up in bed. To his left and to his right he could hear the people snoring behind closed doors. Not even their dogs would come running to the end of it's leash to snap at him. The streets were empty of all save for him. 

"His paws fell heavily into the soft mud. He trudged ever onward, followed by the accumulating ghosts of his past and his snarling shadow. Just as the waterfall back at the Souix Crossroads had not stopped him, neither would this terrible sludge, he'd decided."

Sylnan turned his spear over in his hands, worried that the tip was not yet sharp enough to break skin but not exactly sure if he should test it in case it was. He figured that he was stronger than his doubts but just in case he returned the dull blade to the soft wood and continued scraping slivers of it away. He shot a glance back at his brother. He found himself doing that more and more lately. A part of him was always terrified that he'd look over and the little one would be gone again. Br'aad was still there, still perched with his book reading aloud in a pleasant tone. Sylnan smiled. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

"He blamed himself for this mess. The witch was known for spinning lies instead of silks, he never should have trusted her. There was never any honor amongst thieves. That was a lesson he had no intention of relearning again. He'd made a fool of himself hoping that this time would be different. She'd been kind to him. He'd been poisoned by her gentle words and hospitalities. The blue collar about his neck was a testament to his shame and he felt it only right that it remained in its place so that the world would know of just how low he'd fallen. 

"Still as he passed the little blue house at the end of the street and caught a whiff of the soup brewing inside, he felt a longing tug at the back of his heart for the home he thought he had with her. Suddenly the collar was too tight around his neck. The shiny tag burned past his fur against his skin. He shook himself almost violently to rid himself of the discomfort. 

"You've forgotten, spoke once more the voice inside his head. You've forgotten what it is to be strong. To be powerful. Your claws know only the phantom thrill of what it is to rend flesh. Your teeth have dulled. You crave a life that you were never meant for and you have forgotten what you are meant to be. What would the others think of you? You're no wolf. You're a lap dog. A disgrace. You've forgotten how to be anything else. I pity you.

"He ripped his eyes away from the house. He tore at the earth as he walked, faster now than he had before, faster still, until he was running. The cold air bit at his face and the sharp winds clawed at his sides but they did not stop him. They didn't even slow him down. The rabbit was close, he reminded himself, it was within reach. Once he finally caught it, once he finally brought his beloved prize back home, everything would return to the way it was, the way it was meant to be, and he'd be free again at last, beloved by all and feared by the rest. He ran deeper into the night, a mere shadow that passed through the dismal town of Drune."

Sylnan winced. His hand had slipped and the dull knife had dragged along his thumb, catching itself beneath his nail. He set his tools down having decided that he'd done enough for the day as it was. 

"You know what I don't get?"

"What?"

"How this story could end well. Think about it, if the coyote catches the rabbit it ends bloody for the coyote, he'll end up eating shards of glass. The glass rabbit makes it to the pasture and outlives all of his new friends and family, eventually dying alone. I just don't see how either party wins."

Br'aad closed his book to think for a second. Throughout the past twelve chapters of his book he hadn't once considered an ending. He didn't like what Sylnan had brought to his attention.

"At least he'll get to live a life without the threat of the coyote."

"But how can you be sure? You've seen the pastures here, haven't you? No amount of bushes or trees keep the damned coyotes away, and no wall has ever stopped them. It's hopeless. It's a dream that's doomed to end as a nightmare."

"Do you want me to stop reading?"

"Not in the slightest because now I really want to know how this story ends." 

Somewhere in the distance the church bells once again began to chime. The soft light of the night lanterns began to push past the veil of darkness that the evening had thrown on. Sylnan got up with a grunt. "Actually it's getting late and you have school in the morning. Perhaps it's time we stop. Promise you'll read more to me tomorrow?"

"Promise you'll come home tomorrow?"

Sylnan sighed. He struggled to remember what all he was asked to do. Whatever it was he doubted it would take longer than twelve hours. He nodded with a confident smile. 

"Yeah buddy, I promise."

Br'aad grinned at the answer and was quick to take it to heart. He threw his hair into a rushed, tangled braid and almost refused to sit still when Sylnan sat him down to fix it. He was out like a light about three seconds after he pulled the blanket over his shoulders snoring rather loudly. It amused Sylnan to an extent. It stopped being amusing at roughly three in the morning when the snoring refused to let up. Before he knew it it was time to wake up again and still he hadn't slept a wink. 

Br'aad sat at the table while he scrounged up some breakfast for them both. He felt bad for waking Br'aad up so early but he had to admit he liked being able to spend some time with the kid before heading out. It gave Br'aad some extra time to study before school too, something Sylnan insisted upon so that Br'aad wouldn't get caught playing catch up instead of learning at the "expected pace" completely unaware that there wasn't any expected learning pace at all. 

"I know you like reading but you need to work on your math too!"

"But it's boring! Two plus seven is nine. Three times four is twelve. This is a square, this is a triangle, two of these triangles make a square and two of these triangles make a rectangle and a square is a rectangle but a rectangle is not a square. It's all the same thing and it's boring   
Sylnan!"

"It's also important!"

"If it's so important then how come you don't know any of it?"

"I do too know it!"

"Cool, so what does this say?" He turned the book around and pointed to a random word on the page. Sylnan turned his eyes momentarily away from the oatmeal he was cooking and squinted at what Br'aad was holding up. He frowned, turning back around sharply.

"That's not fair, Br'aad." 

"I could write it in elvish if that would help-"

"That's enough! That's mean...jerk face."

"Stink butt."

"Take that back! My butt does not stink!"

"Like farts."

The two went back at forth like that for about ten minutes more before Sylnan set two bowls down. He ate quickly, hardly taking the time to chew let alone let it cool off. He was out the door just as fast, shouting a quick "Have a good day at school!" as he left. Br'aad was left alone to try his best to stomach his bland oatmeal. Sylnan tried, gods above know he tried, but there was very little a few grains of brown sugar could do to save his burnt oatmeal. 

He packed up his satchel with the few books he read for fun and darted out the door just like Sylnan. The boy with the frizzy red hair was waiting for him at the end of the block. Neither of them particularly liked the other but they found that when they walked together the bigger kids, namely Wendle, would leave them alone. The boy with the frizzy red hair was bigger than he looked and packed a mean punch. Recently Br'aad had discovered his joy of petty insults. On their own, they were prime targets and easy ones at that. Together they became an untouchable force of hell fire and poison. Their walks were usually quiet. They didn't even glance at the other. They kept their heads forwards and just walked. Admittedly, both had weirder friendships, if that's what you could even call this. 

"Do you like frogs?"

"Not really."

"No like...for eating?"

"You eat frogs?"

"I just want to know if they taste better than rats."

"You eat rats?!"

"I just said that- gosh you are the worst at listening to people, Maxwell."

"It's Mitchel!"

It may come as a surprise to you to know that Br'aad had an unprecedented amount of friends, none of whom dared call themselves as such out loud and vowed that they never would. Mitchel was one of those friends. Br'aad was irritating. And stupid. And sometimes he said just the worst things at the worst moment. Mitchel wanted to bash Br'aad's head in at times, and others he couldn't be happier to see his dumb fucking face. It just depended on the day. Today was leaning more towards beat Br'aad to death with his own arms. 

"I take it as a no, then, you wouldn't know if frogs taste any good?"

"No Br'aad but I'll tell you what, if you can catch one, I'll eat it with you."

Br'aad hesitated between his next steps to think on what had just been said. He looked down awkwardly at his bare feet and began to shuffle around in his pockets. 

"So it's funny actually that you'd say that-"

"Why? Oh gods no."

"-Cause I just so happen to have this frog right here in my pocket."

"Why do you just have a frog in your pocket?!"

"Well I found it outside and I wanted to eat it but I didn't know if it would taste good so I wanted to ask before going through with it or decide to let it go. Micheal it's been a long morning for me."

"Still Mitchel." 

"Still have this frog- oh fuck." He no longer had the frog because when threatened, frog's secrete a mucus, as you do, which when Br'aad loosened his grip on the creature made it all too easy for him to jump right out of Br'aad's small, slimy hands. "Welp! Fuck. Just. Aw fuck." Br'aad watched the frog hop away nearing tears. He looked down at his now empty hand and gave it a slight sniff. 

"If you lick that gunk off your hand I'm going to drown you in a piss puddle- Br'aad I am not joking-! Don't!" He snatched Br'aad's wrist and yanked it away from his face.

"I wasn't going to lick it!" He was. "I wasn't! Let go of my wrist, you're gonna leave a bruise." He snatched his hand back out of Mitchel's and pretended to rub at the pain that wasn't actually there. 

"This is why Wendle picks on you so much, you know that?"

"He picks on me for lots of other reasons!"

"Like?"

"None what-so-ever, I'm a delight! He's an ass." 

Mitchel couldn't say a word. Mostly because all the words he wanted to say would have just hurt Br'aad's feelings. And while he couldn't stand the kid half the time he did have some level of respect for his company. He wasn't ready to start fighting Wednle and his goons on his own again just yet. 

"Wanna help me catch it again?"

"We'll be late to school! Mr. Buchanan will yell at us till our ears bleed."

"Mr. Buchanan?"

Now Br'aad was well aware that his memory was about as good as...he forgets, but he was most certain that their teacher was a woman. A nasty one at that. Not quite as mean as the lady who ran the orphanage, but close enough. They could practically be twins. She was a woman, wasn't she? Yeah she was because when he first met Mitchel they laughed because when she got mad she'd pull her skirt up to her boobs all kinds of funny. They made fun of the way she did it for two miles of their walk. She shouted a lot, beat her desk with her yard stick for emphasis, and she would drag students up to the front of her class to berate them in front of all of their friends and peers, only to banish them to a small box while wearing funny, pointy hats that said "dunce" and it didn't matter what they did. Mitchel once whispered to Br'aad about how Mrs. Buchanan looked like an upside down isosceles triangle and she thought the kid behind them said it and she didn't stop shouting at him until he admitted that he did. She then spent the next hour telling the entire class that if she were a triangle, she'd be an upside down obtuse triangle and she made very one practice their triangles until the bell rang and then after that she made everyone stay behind until the kid in the box was able to tell all the triangles apart. Which really wasn't fair as he was easily one of the youngest in the class and still couldn't spell his own name right. It took hours. 

He got home and found Sylnan in tears, terrified that Br'aad had run off again and angry that he'd been told to stay home in case Br'aad came back while Ugarth looked around town for him. Which led to another hour long lecture this time from his dear older brother and then, as if that day couldn't have gotten any longer or worse, Ugarth joined in on his own never ending rant. At the end of it he was able to explain what happened and not one of the two older ones apologized. They just sent him off to bed until dinner. He remembers the fact that Ugarth didn't leave for a while after that. He could hear him talking to Sylnan long after dark. Sometimes he'd forget that Sylnan was still every bit as little as he was, just as scared, with more to worry about than he could understand. 

He didn't sleep much that night. He stayed awake feeling hatred for the witch that caused all of that nonsense. He hated her. More than he could say. He wouldn't just forget that she wasn't a she. Things like that were very important to him. Then again perhaps she- sorry, perhaps he had mentioned something yesterday and he'd just missed it. He cemented the change in his mind so as not to slip and call him "Mrs". Buchanan again. 

"He's always yelling, that's not going to change. Only this way we'd have a cool frog friend to help us through it."

"Br'aad…"

"It's hard to be upset when those big, goofy eyes are staring up at you with no thoughts going on inside it's tiny, empty head."

"Just like you."

"And you love me! So come on, let's go get the frog!"

He tugged at Mitchel's sleeve to pull him along and after a moment, Mitchel gave in. Br'aad was a lot of things, arrogant, absent minded, and ditzy, but he was also very persuasive and Mitchel had no idea how. Perhaps it was the need to see if this could possibly end well. It was Br'aad after all, nothing ever went right for that kid. It was hilarious!


	14. Chapter fourteen: the coyote

Br'aad leaped over an overturned garbage bin. His heel found its home in a slick puddle of mud that sent him splattering on the ground flat on his back. The sun caught his eye just right and he was effectively blind for the next fifteen minutes but he didn't exactly care about that. He staggered back up to his heart and kept running in the direction he last saw the frog despite the large purple spot that encumbered his entire vision. He could hear Mitchel cackling like a madman behind him. A few stray chickens scattered in every direction when he barreled through them. He dove down with his hands ready to cage the little green bastard without hurting it only to lean too far forwards and fall yet again, somersaulting back up to his feet without a problem up until he bashed his face into the side of a building knocking a tooth loose from its gums. He caught it in his open palm and tucked it away into his pocket for safe keeping. 

The two didn't exactly follow tradition like most families. They celebrated birthdays, at least they celebrated Br'aad's but Sylnan couldn't remember his as the orphanage never told him. But Br'aad's was public knowledge, it was etched into their mother's tombstone as the day she died. A bittersweet anniversary. Sylnan fought like hell to make that particularly rotten day the absolute best for Br'aad every year. They didn't celebrate the annual feasts that were held, not for the king's birthday, not for the country's independence, not for the silly things the gods passed down ages ago. Sylnan did however keep the tradition of tiny fairies stealing teeth. Though not in the way most would have expected. The other children received a silver coin in place for a lost tooth, it would be left in the night beneath their pillow but Sylnan didn't have the allowance for such a reward. So Sylnan told Br'aad that a tooth fairy got assigned to every child, and some children got lucky and others got, well they got Tedfferson who liked to go drinking instead of tooth collecting and when he did go tooth collecting it would be without his coin because he lost it in a poker game with some gnomes. So he had to find replacements and usually those replacements for coins were, a blue button, a cookie with a bite out of it, three peas and a piece of twine wrapped around a shiny rock, and a few feathers from different birds all cemented in mud. Br'aad never knew what he'd earn for his teeth and that was always the exciting part. A simple silver coin was boring. Clearly Br'aad was getting the better deal. So he was happy to keep his tooth hidden along with the handful of sand also sloshing about in his pocket. 

Mitchel was hot on his heels. He was handling the sloppy streets better than his weirdly flexible friend. The frog jumped in a final act of desperation towards the green marsh of a neighbor's yard only to find itself caught once more in some little kid's vice like grip. Mitchel held it up high and proud for Br'aad to see. 

"What do you two fiends think you're doing?" They turned to see the ghostly silhouette of Mr. Buchanan swell from the usual morning fog. 

His cane struck at the stone with a blood curling clatter. His cloak fluttered at the heels of his well maintained boots. The muck and the filth of the streets shrank away from the dastardly man almost as fast as the shadows ran to greet him. His indifferent scowl was almost as dreadful as the rouge worn by the ladies of the night to try and hide the diseases their job had given them. Not even the morning winds could chill the bones of those it lashed quite as well as his hard glare could to those unfortunate enough to receive it. He was a walking winter, the undisputed master of fear, and a totem of corrupted power. His anger swelled bright within that heartless chest of his. Perhaps that alone was the only warm thing about old Mr. Buchanan. 

It was only natural that the two boys paled in their faces. It seemed that in his excitement, Mitchell had forgotten that the curse of bad luck that followed Br'aad like a lost puppy was often a contagious one. The frog had stopped squirting in the boy's hands. It too had identified the biggest threat to it's safety and the idiot kids were not nearly as wretched anymore. 

The narrow form of the man towered far above the heads of the children. He craned his neck down to an absurd degree to help meet their gaze and still they had to strain to look up at him. His sneer was as unkind as any, carrying with it the wrath beyond even what that of the gods could conjure. 

"Whipworms, young Master Mitchel, do you know what they are?"

"Uh...worms?"

The man rightened himself out, the entirety of his spine cracking as he did so. "Figure that one out all by yourself, did you? Whipworms, children, are parasites that usually reside within the intestines of domesticated animals. Nasty little things. Now normally humans, such as yourselves, can't get whipworm without first ingesting some of their eggs, usually through soil or contaminated water and yet somehow your mothers managed to give birth to the largest and most irritating worms I've seen yet."

"Excuse me?" Br'aad asked after a second. He was pretty sure that his mom only ever gave birth to him and Sylnan and never any worms. Was he calling Sylnan a worm? He didn't think he'd like to have a worm for a brother. They wouldn't be much for conversation. Oh gods, he'd be so small! So helpless! Br'aad felt sad thinking about how he had no idea how to care for a worm brother. He'd probably kill him. 

Mitchel was every bit as lost though unlike Br'aad he didn't even connect the dots that their teacher was calling him, or any of his siblings for that matter, a worm. He was just confused. Not sure what to do, he smiled awkwardly with a nod, "Oh." 

Br'aad carefully took the terrified frog from Mitchel, slipping it right back into his sandy pocket. Their teacher began to walk on ahead of them, waving a gloved hand in demand that they follow. Reluctantly they did. 

Br'aad suddenly thought of the Baker. The man was as wide as his teacher was tall, pure muscle and full of fighting spirit. He remembered how livid he was when he discovered that Br'aad's cries for his missing mother were all a ruse to help the other kid steal bread. He remembered being chased for about half an hour through the marketplace, too scared to go home because Sylnan told him to meet back up at one of the stalls. If he recalled correctly, and that was a big if, he could have sworn that the Baker had threatened him with everything under the sun and vowed that if he ever saw the boy near his shop again he'd get a well deserved whipping. The only reason Br'aad was thinking about such things was because at the moment he'd much rather have to deal with the Baker than be anywhere near Mr. Buchanan. 

It was almost comical how the children scattered when they spotted death personified casually walking down the street. Br'aad followed slowly behind, happy to put a little distance between them but worried he'd get yelled at if he didn't at least look like he was trying to keep up. There was a faint ticking emanating off of the man. It was familiar, as in it was off beat. Br'aad would count the seconds in his head. Sometimes the tick would chime after three had passed, sometimes he couldn't even get through half of one. He could have sworn it was getting louder too. He plugged his ears, hoping that it was all just inside his head again and it wasn't real. It grew muffled and he was thankful for that. What worried him still was the fact that Mitchel didn't seem to notice it. 

Upon the arrival of their school teacher, the children romping freely in the yard all rushed to find their sheets before he could find a reason to be mad at them. Mr. Buchanan wasn't like Professor Goodman in that he never once struck a child. He'd smack at the desks and the board sure, and he found that the noise alone was enough to scare the children into behaving. 

That took Br'aad back a little. Three days ago the entire call was up in arms, wild and hell-bent on making dear old teach cry, and now they all sat like perfect little soldiers without a single peep whispered between themselves. It was off-putting. Perhaps there was just something in the air. Or maybe something had happened last night that he was unaware of. 

The hours passed without incident. Not one child got scolded or even sent to the box. It was as silent as the grave from the first bell to the last. Imagine, if you will, your fondest memory from first grade. Perhaps you were on a field trip, or maybe it was your birthday and the class was singing at you, or maybe you were just playing with your friends during recess. Ok so remember how loud it was? In all of your memories look back and notice how the noise never stopped. Chatter, pages turning, sniffling, screaming, tantrums, singing, something falling over, sneezing, sometimes even a fart or two, it was always noisy. How big was your class? Were you one of the lucky kids who only had 12 other students to call your classmates? Were you like most in the Adams 12 county stuck in a class of 37 with more students than chairs? Now take that class size and quadruple it. Crank all of that noise up fourfold. Four times the tantrums, four times the sniffling, four times the chaos. Now imagine all of those kids perfectly still and equally as silent. 

Now you understand how disturbed Br'aad was. It's almost like dropping a glass figurine on the cold tile floor and watching it bounce back onto the table without a scratch. It's unnatural. When it was finally over, Br'aad was hesitant in leaving, almost as if terrified that everything would snap back to normal and kill him instantly. He glanced down at his frog still content in his pocket. 

Before they ran away, Sylnan used to tell Br'aad stories to help him sleep. They were always silly stories, usually about a man who couldn't dance but his inability to do so saves the day because it scares a devil out of town. But he told other stories too. One particular story was indeed about a magical toad. When touched, the road would steal the person away and abandon them inside of a new reality. The hero in that story had lost his wife to this toad, believing that kissing him would turn him into a prince. He was determined to bring her home. So he held the frog and was taken but not to where she was. He spent the rest of the story looking for the frog to help him find his wife. Instead he found his new friends and in them he found his new home. The story ended with the hero deciding that he didn't want to go back, he was happier here. 

Br'aad wasn't one to believe in fairy tales, he knew better. Dragons weren't real, magic was only sort of real, and there was no enchanted forest in need of saving. But maybe, just maybe, there was a magic frog who could take him away from the world he once knew. No, that was also ridiculous. He was certain of one thing though, he was glad that the day was over. 

He remained as far away from their classroom door during lunch, keeping a careful eye out for the grim being that was Mr. Buchanan. Mitchel was glad to pass the time away right beside him, along with a small handful of others. Years of being alone had taught him to cling to those willing to tolerate him, there was a safety in numbers. He found it harder to get found when just another face in a bustling crowd and for many creatures still too small to defend themselves, camouflage by overwhelming the hunter was their best defense mechanism. He didn't have the spots that the fawns did, he didn't have the ability to hold perfectly still for hours at a time. He had only the growing sense of dread and doom and the unshakable feeling that he was being watched. 

Mr. Buchanan sat at his desk behind a towering wall of papers he needed to grade. It seemed that while playing dress up he'd forgotten about the job now expected of him. He was beginning to wonder if it was even worth it. He'd been forgotten about for so long now, he was starting to adjust. 

Sure this life wasn't exactly what he and his siblings could have ever imagined. It was dismal and tiring at times. He went hungry more often than he was ready to admit. Oh who was he trying to fool? He missed the golden days of his past, back when he was worshiped, back when people paid tribute to him through sacrifices, plays, and music! He longed for the yesteryears where he was the greatest threat and only hope for the squirming little maggots soiling this realm. Running from seer to seer with only a thread of the powers he once had trying to weave more was excruciating! Finally, after years of radio silence, he'd finally found someone who could perceive what little there was left of him. He'd scoured the earth for others maybe ten times over, there was no one else, just him. He'd do whatever it took to get the boy in his side.

So yes, he decided, taking up his quill and settling in for what was going to be a dreadful half an hour, this wretched little side job was worth it. It was worth every last little spelling mistake and every grammatical fuck up he read. 

He had the boy now, and this time he couldn't get away. And the position of teacher meant he could shape the child into the believer he needed him to be. Already he could tell that he liked to learn, had a real knack for it too. Still too dumb to know what to do with everything he was learning but damn did he know it! All he needed to know was a little incantation in abyssal, some small runes, a simple, silly little sigil and all would be back to normal again! 

The only thing he had to worry about was that other brat. The one who panicked when Br'aad was gone for too long. He'd already proven himself to be a particularly irritating thorn in his side. He wanted to snap his fingers and blink the boy out of existence as he had to Mrs. Buchanan. It was frustrating to know that he couldn't. Something kept the child here, something new and weak but still stronger than him. Another god had taken a liking to him. He was untouchable by any normal means.

Which meant he'd have to think outside the box. If the blond could be easily swayed by the false promise of a bright and exciting future miles away from this dreadful wharf then perhaps the older brother could be persuaded too. He'd just have to be clever about it. He couldn't exactly juggle being a teacher for roughly 73 kids and simotaniously subtly try to murder a rambunctious ten year old. He'd need help. It was a good thing he knew exactly who to turn to. 

Before long the cats began to trickle back inside to take their seats back at their desks like lemmings lead to the edge of the water. They worked in silence. After a bit he got up and began to hand back their papers, all of which had been harshly graded and we're enough to make most students cry. The only thing he handed back to Br'aad was a book as thick and as heavy as a pig ripe for the slaughter and on its cover sat a single little note. Homework: Get through chapter eight. 

Br'aad slowly looked up, well he tried to there wasn't exactly much more up he could look, to stare at Mr. Buchanan. He glanced around to see if any of the other kids had been assigned the reading work too and was almost offended to see he was the odd man out. See the old creature had tried playing nice and clearly that didn't work. Tough love would have to do. He tapped on the book with an elongated fingernail thrice before moving on down the aisle passing back papers. 

Walking home had been two steps south of hell. It amazed the kid just how heavy a book could be. He was certain that his arms would snap right out of their sockets and tumble onto the ground like a marionette after it's strings had been severed. He stumbled more than he walked which was hardly anything new for him but annoying nonetheless. 

"I don't get it. Mr. Hard ass gives you two plus two and I get stuck with this fucking bitch of a book?"

"My gods, Br'aad, does your mom know you swear so much?"

"I really doubt she cares how much I curse."

"Does she swear a lot too?"

"No clue, Migeul, do dead people talk a lot already? I've never actually seen one in person so I wouldn't know."

"Mitchel and- oh shit I'm sorry I didn't know."

Br'aad attempted a shrug and stopped when something popped. Was it his elbow or how shoulder or maybe his wrist he didn't know! But it didn't feel too great so he decided maybe he shouldn't keep doing that. His hands were numb. Should they be numb? Reading was awful too now. 

Sylnan was right, school was for losers. 

It's funny how a passing conversation held between two children can seem so unimportant to so many. The butcher had caught only a few syllables of it, the words came and went to him, and he thought nothing of it ever again. But the woman stood about fourteen feet off, following slowly couldn't help herself but memorize the entire little thing. She grinned. Good old Ob- sorry, Mr. Buchanan was going to love this.


	15. Chapter fifteen: the witch

Jaquot found Sylnan at the entrance of the guild before anyone else. The boy hurriedly pulled Sylnan aside, out of the wandering eyes of the others and further still from any curious pairs of ears. Sylnan didn't know this boy, not too well. He knew that Jaquot wasn't exactly cut out for this line of work, he was used to a certain set of standards that couldn't be found here. He also knew that Jaquot disliked pretty much everyone he had to work with and did his best to limit how often he had to see them. Their likeness in age was hardly reason for the two to get along any better than they could the others. Sylnan felt uneasy by the kid's sudden approach.

"Is something wrong?"

"There was a murder last night, someone killed a half orc and took off with another. I haven't seen Ugarth all day and I was hoping you have but here you are alone."

"Ugarth's been murdered?!"

Jaquot turned to Sylnan, slapping a hand to cover his mouth and muffle any more shouts sure to come from him. "That's what I'm trying to find out-"

"I've been murdered?!" Ugarth shouted before Jaquot could say another word, startling the absolute life out of the snobby boy. He dramatically felt about himself checking for any wounds or weapons to back this rumor up and of course found none. He stopped just to stare at Jaquot with a disapproving and mocking sneer. "Please stop manhandling my partner, we have work to do. Work, do you know what that is, Jaquot? It involves getting dirt under your fingernails and typically requires you to be alive for it. Sylnan let's go, you two can play murder mystery later." 

Sylnan pushed Jaquot off of him and jumped to start following Ugarth in tow. 

"Word to the wise, Jacquot, never believe a word you hear within these walls."

Now everybody knows the wharf is full of eager ears and hungry eyes. A destitute and desolate place often is. Rumors, even the silly and easily disputed ones, spread like the mountain made wildfires in the dry season. Word travels faster than the forked tongues of the liars and fiends could speak. The wharf was alive with talk of the murdered and missing half orcs. Typically news like this fell upon deaf men's ears as the lives of those other than strictly human weren't exactly worth much, not to the king, not to his court, not to his people. Most of the time those involved also happened to be tangled up in the criminal underbelly of the wharf, there was nothing worth crying over. Usually the town criers would argue it was a reason to celebrate.

The man slaughtered was, evidently, not Ugarth. He was a gentleman, one of which had only just recently begun to devote himself to one of the churches. For the past four months he could be found cooped up in the library under the supervision of a small gnome woman learning how to read. He was a fixture within a large portion of his community, respected and even loved by all who met him. The crime scene was a gruesome one. Word sparked up that the supposedly missing other half orc wasn't missing at all, not really, but rather running. By noon the entire wharf was being told to keep their eye out for an adolescent half orc boy, wanted for murder.

Br'aad and Mitchel only picked up bits and pieces of the hysteria as they walked home. Neither particularly cared and therefore didn't think twice about it. The incandescent woman now falling away from them heading back to the school yard couldn't be bothered with the news either. She already had her hands full enough as it was. 

She gave a slight knock on the door before letting herself in. Mr. Buchanan was sat at his desk nursing his migraine with a bottle of whiskey. He welcomed his guest with a toothy smile. She was exactly the woman he wanted to see. 

"My dear," he welcomed warmly, "how lovely of you to drop in."

She was an old being with many names. Most of which she'd long since forgotten. She could no longer recite the one her parents had given her, that was a couple hundred life times ago. She remembered that it was something not even the winds or the pine trees could pronounce, otherworldly and ancient. Names were hardly a commodity to her, she took them up as quickly as she dropped them. She was clinging to titles now these days, they were easier to remember. The last title beholden to her ever shifting visage was the contortionist. The small blond child she'd been told to follow had called her the woman who could magic away her bones. She'd quite enjoyed that title. She was almost sad to see it go. Perhaps in another life she could call upon it again. She certainly hoped so. For now she was happy to settle in with a new name and a new title. 

She sank down onto the desk, leisurely spreading herself about it, not too unlike how a goddess being hand fed peeled grapes would lounge in her fainting chair. 

"I assume you've summoned me back for another job then?"

"Indeed, my dear."

That's what he liked to call her. He knew about as well as any how futile names could be. All names burned the tip of his tongue raw and rotten. He liked to keep things simple. My pet. My puppet. My love. My son. My dove. She'd heard him say them all but he only ever called her my dear. That was his name for her and she couldn't think of a more darling one. 

He sat up to meet her eyes, forgetting for a moment who's face he was wearing and forgetting how his love lorn look that typically had the girl swooning could now easily make most recoil away from him. Perhaps that was why he adored her so much. She was the only one who could always see past his disguises, beyond the false age behind his baggy eyes. Just as he could see past her lithe face and see the decay rotting away within her. 

"What do you know of the brother?"

"Sylnan? I know about as much as the little one spoke of him. Why?"

"I believe the brat's been in the family picture for far too long. He's gotten his hands tangled in too many of my plans already."

She let out a soft hum and sat up, dragging her nailed along the mahogany desk beneath her. She caught a lock of his grey and wiry hair between her claws, twisting it into a perfectly little spiral before letting it go and slowly getting back to her feet.

"I see. You want me to hunt him. I can do that. You want it done quickly I presume? And so it shall be done so. You want it down quietly, so the little one won't go sniffing about and find you at the center of all this? It would be my pleasure. As you know, my lord, despite my current pleasantries, I am not cheap to hire. What then would you have to offer in exchange for my services this time?"

"Were the jewels not enough to satisfy you, my dear?"

"Rubies and emeralds all lose their charms after a few short days, you're an experienced man, you ought to know this by now. No, I don't think I want your glittering diamonds either."

"Speak your price, my dear, and I will raise it."

She thought for a moment. One of the many troubles of being infinite is the common means of man start to lose their taste. Money, wealth, love, power, it drives them mad and in their madness they die alone, weak and with nothing. She'd seen it happen too many times to count. Greed bleeds bodies faster than the blade. Truth be told she was not easily bought because she had everything, there was no amount of gold that would impact the mountain she slept upon, no number of lovers to satisfy her thirst, no sweets that would taste of anything aside from ash in her mouth. She took payment in entertainment. 

"Make me laugh, my lord. Make me smile, make me weep. Inspire me and I shall fetch for you the head of the child before the week runs out. Make me laugh." 

Ob'nockshai had known this woman for many years, more than most men could count she was the definition of timeless. He'd watched her burn at the stake and escape, witnessed her hunted, afraid and desperate, just as he'd watched her topple entire civilizations with only her good looks and some words alone. She was a phoenix, dazzling, bright, brilliant, and dangerous. She was a cockroach, everywhere, irritating, unkillable. She was a pest, first and foremost. Rare and valuable regardless. Which was exactly why she was perfect for this job. Gods, however old or powerful, meant nothing to her. The fledgling aimlessly wandering about town wouldn't be able to stop her. She was well worth the high price she'd given him. He hated her for it. And he loved her all the same.

Ugarth kept Sylnan closer than usual all through their day. His eyes would dart from strangerer to acquaintance and regardless of how familiar he was with them he always regarded them with the same level of mistrust and suspicion. It had been quite some time since Sylnan had seen him so on edge. Every glare thrown back at them brought with it a dangerous tension, the kind that requires a delicate approach. One wrong move on either party's end could easily escalate into a fight bloody and brutal and Ugarth was itching for a fight. He was almost daring people to let their looks linger a little longer. He was practically begging folks to try something on him. The only thing that kept him from going out in an all out brawl was the fact that he didn't want to get either Jaquot or Sylnan tangled up in any unnecessary messes. 

Those writhing within the tight claws that was the thieves guild usually wouldn't turn their eyes towards mention of murder, particularly with someone such as the poor gentleman from this morning. Helping the guards apprehend the killer was the last rung on their ladder of things they'd ever think of doing. However this particular case happened to come attached with a lovely bounty that made all of them twitch and tingle. There weren't a lot of half orcs in the wharf. There were even fewer known for their explosive anger and violent tendencies. 

The shadows of the mess made were greedy and cruel. It didn't matter to anyone what Ugarth said to try and defend himself. No one would ever believe him. He could scream till his throat bled about his innocence and still find himself doomed to the hang man's noose. Funny how that goes sometimes.

They didn't go to the marketplace to turn their usual tricks. Not together at least. Ugarth remained in the sewers, ever vigilant, watching as Sylnan and Jaquot set to work pocketing more than just what they could find in pockets and purses. Very recently Ugarth had been told that Sylnan was ready to try his hand at larger game: home invasions. Ugarth had done his best to find them a place predominantly unoccupied and with easy locks and plenty of exits. He wished them luck and bit his lip impatiently waiting for their return.

The house he'd picked belonged to an old fart who was out at the moment. Ugarth had spotted it some few days back. The gentleman who occupied it was a tall being, thin and frail. He doubted how much time the man had left on the planet, he would be too old and tired to file a report or go out hunting for the ones who stole away with his things. Ugarth didn't exactly like picking on the elderly, however this man wasn't the kindest, he was harsh to children, and so Ugarth figured this would serve to be some karma just coming back to bite him.

Sylnan moved towards the back door, struggling to fish his lock pick free from the folds of his jacket. Jaquot stood watch nearby, doing his best to look as though he belonged. 

It was a towering thing, this particular house. It was older and unfittingly beautiful compared to its neighbors. The purple paint had yet to peel, though it was weathered and dulled by its astounding age, almost rustic. The windows were tinted slightly a soft brown color. Was it by choice, by dust, by grime, by accident, no one really knew. The baluster surrounding the front porch was carefully decorated with a series of cobwebs. It matched the railing along the stairs leading to the back door. Water had ruined the frames in the window wells, Sylnan doubted how well they'd hold up to his kick were it not for the mountain of forgotten clutter blocking off the windows, he might have given it a try. 

The carefully chiseled mahogany door swung open without making a gasp. Not a squeak and nary a groan, the pristine hinges almost beaconed the thief inside. It welcomed him home. 

Immediately he was cut off guard by the smell of something rotting. Such a smell was common in the sewers but never was it anything like this. This wasn't the smell of a few rats decaying, it wasn't anything quite like the bug-like creature he'd bested. This, in its own way, was evil and deterring, he couldn't tell if it was spoiled food or soiled flesh. He glanced back anxiously to see if Jaquot had followed only to find himself standing there completely on his own. His shoulders sank and he muttered a curse. That was fine, that meant more of a cut for him and Ugarth. 

With that thought safely tucked away in his mind, he shut the door and began to creep about. He kept a sharp eye out for anything worthwhile despite having no idea what that even meant. He just hoped that he'd find something heavy and shiny. All he wanted was to be done with this house and get back home. An ever sinking dread held him captive. At no point could he ignore the thoughts of what was making the place reek in such a way. 

He got lucky, or perhaps the panic rising like bile in his throat had forced him to ignore the simple things. He bounded up a flight of velvet carpeted stairs, slowing only to take a second and register that it was indeed a velvet carpet. He could have sworn that Ugarth said this guy didn't have much. What happened to being humble? He was careful not to touch anything, not the banister, not the walls, he kept his hands close to his chest, elbows tucked in, toes to heel he crept, terrified that he'd leave a scuff mark in the carpet if he walked normally. He reached a hallway that seemed to just stretch on forever. He stopped, struggling to remember how the house looked on the outside to try and determine where his exits were. There should be a window down the first left that led to an awning. He could do that if he couldn't reach the door. He turned the corner and found a small decorative desk holding up a blooming pink bonsai tree. Running along its branches was a healthy sized sinaloan milk snake. 

At first glance, such a thing wouldn't stand out to most. Maybe the snake would, but the tree itself was just another part of the hallway he was in, it was no different from the carpet or the purple wallpaper. Sylnan wasn't like most. He saw things before others did. The light was playful. It seeped past the lacy curtains and pooled onto the floor in graceful streaks and splashes. Something in the dirt dared reach out to catch a stray sunbeam and hold it close and tight. It wasn't the snake, it wasn't the tree, it wasn't the dark brown soil that either sat upon. He moved his pinky finger down to try and dig it up a bit better. A simple glimmering chain revealed itself. With a slight tug he managed to unearth it entirely and slip it away into his pocket with the lock-pick and the sand Br'aad insisted he keep. He grinned at the thought of buried treasure. This man, whoever he was, was hiding a plethora of secrets and cleverly. That was quite alright with Sylnan, that just told him where else he needed to look.

He darted back downstairs. He'd watched his mother hide things all the time. She had her favorite spots, her make-up drawer was one of them. She used to keep small slips of paper tucked between her perfumes and her lip paints. She used to hide the gifts that the man who came in through the window would give her somewhere else all together: the kitchen. It was the one place she loved more than her vanity mirror. She used to sit Sylnan down at the table and have him help make the dough for a pie, or she'd tell him to draw using the leftover flour mess she'd made while she tidied up a bit. She'd yell at him if he ever went near some of her favorite mason jars full of rice, beans, and other small grains. She kept jewelry in those, small things, trinkets. He never could understand why she kept some jewelry separate from all the rest of it or why she never wore her hidden pieces when she went out, only ever putting them on perhaps an hour or so before the return of the strange but familiar visitor. 

He climbed up onto the counter and began rummaging around in whatever containers he could find. He was right. The man was just like his mother. In the basin of flour he found several small rings, small enough to fit his own pinky and nothing more. There were six of them. And with them sat a stone, pale in color, flat and round, with a simple little doodle engraved on one side. He left that there, the rings we're enough to satisfy him for now. 

The front door handle jiggled. He couldn't see it, the grand piano in the sitting room blocked his view of the door but he could hear it. He rushed to put everything back the exact way he'd found it, struggling to remember which jar of peppered seasoning was where. He jumped off of the counter and made a break for the back door. He was unable to even make it to the hallway before the door opened and in stepped the lanky form of the elderly man who lived in the strangely decorated and peculiarly arranged house. He dove to hide behind the nearest chair, pressing his back as flat as he could into the wall. Frantically he tried to remember where the nearest window was and paled when he placed it around the corner. To get to it he'd be seen no doubt. He listened anxiously to the soft foot fall of the man accompanied by the muffled taps of his reagle cane. The man was somewhere in the main entrance still.

Sylnan's heart beat feverishly away at his rib cage. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he fought to keep his trembling breathing soft and steady only to find himself starting to hyperventilate. He shut his eyes in a wild and desperate attempt to calm himself and just listen for where the man was in relation to him. Should he wander down the hallway, he'd be caught for sure but there was a chance that the man was just tired and maybe wanted a drink or to take a seat and take off his shoes first. Right? 

Sylnan never was much of the praying type. He figured that whatever gods were listening were too busy to answer. He swallowed his sinking dread and whispered a begging plea that he be delivered safely from this situation. He didn't care who heard him. 

The man was pacing, he could hear that much. He was disgruntled and irritated, muttering harsh curses at someone who simply wasn't there. What all he was saying Sylnan couldn't make it out. He set the cane down and groaned as he struggled to remove his shoes. Sylnan took the time to inch his way down the hall, too afraid to dart to safety lest he make too much noise. He was unable to decide where to look, at the man to see if he was clear or at the floor to watch where his foot fell. He was making himself dizzy switching back and forth between the two. 

The gentleman moved then from the main entrance towards the kitchen. Had he'd been looking straight forward he would have seen the child, however his eyes were preoccupied with one of his cufflinks. Sylnan stepped again, freely now, stopping only when he heard the man clear his throat. He'd not yet been seen. Good. Good. He continued onward.

His breath caught in his throat when the floor gave out a low groan beneath his toes. The grumblings from the man stopped dead. For a second, Sylnan thought he died too. His heart didn't dare beat. It too was waiting. Time didn't stop but it sure as hell did drag on. He caught what he could have sworn was a chuckle of sorts. Not good. 

He bolted, not at all in the mood to get caught by the wharf's most miserable man for breaking and entering. He sprinted down the hall faster than he thought he was capable of doing and dashed towards the window, his only escape. He fumbled for the lock, pawing eagerly at the smooth wood for some sort of latch. He found nothing. They didn't open? Oh gods they don't open!

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he heard the man growl somewhere behind him. "I know you're there." He practically sang.

The back door? Gods above where was the back door?! It was by the stairs. He'd have to go back the way he came to get to it. The man was nearing him, he wouldn't be able to make it. He didn't like it, but he was left with no other option. He opened the first door he saw and disappeared into the room it hid. It was dark. He could hardly make out the tip of his nose. He stumbled about feeling his way past what might have been a writing desk into an overcrowded bookcase. He dove to the floor, unable to think of what else to do. He wormed his way past the large, throne like chair placed behind the presumed writing desk and watched the crack of light beneath the door for any change.

"I know you're there, kitten. Let's be smart about this, come on out." 

The muffled voice just barely managed to break it's way through the dismal darkness and reach him. He felt about his person for anything he had to use against him. His make-shift dagger was gone, his spear was with Ugarth, he had some stolen jewelry, his lock picks, and a pocket full of sand. The door opened before he had the chance to think of anything. All at once he was surrounded by an all too familiar light. He ducked behind the desk, listening to the soft, slow foot fall of the threat drawing closer and closer and closer. He held his breath and inched further from where the man was. 

"I see you-"

Sylnan sprang to his feet. He ripped his clenched fist from his pocket and showered the man in sand. He bolted passed, doing his best to avoid the slashing claws gunning for his eyes. 

"You horrible, thieving boy!" The man screeched. Unable to snag flesh or fabric of the tiny intruder, Mr. Buchanan began to claw at his own face to rid his eyes of the irritation. He couldn't blink without burning and he couldn't see past the involuntary tears. That hardly mattered, he could hear the rustle of his papers as the boy ran past.

He lunged after him. Sylnan was faster. He dove beneath the man's lanky arms, narrowly avoiding a head on collision with the bookcase doing so. He knocked an entire shelf of books down on to the floor at his feet. He trampled a few scrambling to stay upright as he ran. Mr. Buchanan had not been as fortunate. His heel caught the pages of one of his most favorited books and sent him sailing backwards into his desk. He cursed the corporeal form he wore for its complete lack of balance. He was too tall, too thin. He wasn't used to such a frame. By the time he'd fixed himself, the boy was out the door and down the hall. 

Sylnan didn't care anymore about what he touched or what he scuffed. He tore through the fancy house like a startled cat at three in the morning on a work day. Mr. Buchanan was right on his heels and gaining at an ungodly speed. Sylnan made a sharp turn in the hall, opting for the front door instead of the back. It was closer. He grinned to himself when he heard the man shoulder check the wall attempting to follow suit and fail. He clambered for the handles, and nearly threw up when his hands were too sweaty to get a grip on the lock. A scream tore it's way out of his throat, stopping only after he was able to rip the doors open and stagger out of them. The man returned the cry with his own frustrated roar diving one last time to try and stop the brat from getting one step further. 

His hand caught a fist full of hair. A wicked grin shattered his face. A harsh yank dragged Sylnan back inside. He was thrown to the floor with a thud. 

"I'm going to take great pleasure in ripping you limb from limb, Sylnan, you have no idea."

Whatever fear Sylnan was swamped with mere moments ago doubled with that one sentence. How in the nine hells did this son of a bitch know his name? 

He scrambled back a bit stopping only when his back met the legs of the grand piano. There was nowhere to run, he could get up and try for the back door, he'd be caught before he could get to his feet! He searched desperately for something, anything, to use as a weapon to defend himself. The man may like old but the power he held behind those twiggy arms was not to be underestimated again. He found nothing! The cane was too far, the fire pokers were behind a grate, they'd take too long to retrieve, the bench was too heavy. There was nothing he could do now other than desperately try to kick, hit, and claw his way out of this and just hope. He bit his lip and slammed his heel into his attacker's knee, wincing at the sicking cruch that resonated in his ears immediately after. The man fell forward. Sylnan rolled to his left, dodging the man's savage fists but just barely. He used the wall to pull himself back up only to get slammed right back down on the ground. Mr. Buchanan had a death grip on his ankle and it didn't matter how viciously Sylnan thrashed, he was relentless. It hurt, he was bruised for sure, but he only started to get worried when his toes started to tingle before going completely numb with a sharp snap. An ear piercing scream rattled the old, stained windows. At first Sylnan didn't even notice he was the one who made it. He didn't think, he just reacted. He turned and caught the man's arm between his teeth and he didn't let go, not even after a warm iron liquid began to flood his mouth. Mr. Buchanan let go of him then, reeling back to smack the kid for tearing out a chunk of flesh from his arm. Sylnan snapped to his good foot and hobbled back to the open door the second his very broken ankle was free. He slammed the door behind him, only noticing the man's hand in the door after the fact. He didn't feel sorry. In fact he opened the door just to slam it again only harder this time. His hand slid from the handle and back he fell down the stupid stairs, through the baluster and out onto the street in a heap of pain. 

He jumped when a pair of hands slid under his arms and pulled him off the ground. Jaquot looked positively mortified. He wasted no time hurrying the injured one out of the main street and back through the alleyway. 

"Where the fuck were you? What happened to being on look out?"

"I didn't see him until it was too late!"

"Any sort of heads up would have been nice!"

"What did you want me to do?"

He didn't dare look over his shoulders. He was terrified that if he did then the freakishly fast and deceptively strong old man would appear and he'd have to blindly fight for his life again. 

There are about half a million benefits to being an older god. Just as there are over half a million issues with being and older god. For one thing, Ob'nockshai was exhausted. His magic wasn't as strong at it used to be. He could conjure a delightful house without much issue so long as he let the walls and the frame remain ever the same. If he wanted a grand piano, dazzling and spectacular he'd have it with a snap of his fingers and he was fine. If it was materialistic and simple then it could be done. It exerted about the same energy as lifting his index finger. Conjuring beings of flesh and bone was another thing. He used to be able to raise the dead, he could corrupt the fragile minds of men, he used to be able to use perfectly conscious people as his own personal marionettes! Now simply changing his appearance was a daunting task, mending his body was draining. The fight with the untouchable child had, ashamedly, winded him more than he'd ever like to admit. He slowly got up off the floor, snapping his knee back in place with a grimace. He turned to the woman stood in his doorway.

"Entertaining enough for you then, my dear?"

The woman smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that could melt the cold hearts of the worst of people, the kind that rivaled the sweet summer songs of the southern sirens and put a succubus to shame. He hated it. 

All at once the fair red hair she had tumbling down her back ran a jet black. Her green eyes bleed brown. Her face shifted, her nose hooking just a tad, her cheeks rose. She was still every bit as beautiful as she had been perhaps moments before. She curtsied to the old god.

"My lord, as always it has been a pleasure seeing you, but I must excuse myself: I have some hunting to do."


	16. Chapter 16: the homeless cat

The smell of a baking apple pie would sweep its way across the large quarters they kept. With it came the gentle hum of a light hearted song. Sometimes there'd be the strum of a harp, or perhaps the troll of the hopsicord. Sylnan, too small to see over the table yet, would be found typically under it, shielded from his mother's gaze by the lacy table cloth, completely unaware that it didn't hide him one bit. He'd keep his tiny hands busy with a carefully whittled horse he named Bigby. It would clippity clip along the tile floor just like the real horses did outside. He'd look up and see her wafting past either to retrieve the pie from the oven or to water some more of her plants. She'd stop, giggling softly to herself.

"Where could me little bean have run off to this time I wonder?" She'd coo aloud. Sylnan would smile, convinced that he'd fooled his mother. He'd abandon the small whittled horse in favor of a new game: spook mom. He'd watch her pace about in small circles, her ankle brackets clinging and jingling against one another like little bells in the winter time. The kind the sleighs got adorned in. 

"Is he in the pantry?" And she'd spin around real fast to check. As always he never was. It would fuel his confidence and he'd squirm in anticipation.

"Is he...in the oven?" He wasn't! He wasn't! And he knew and she didn't and she'd check, she would always check even if the oven was on. She'd stop and hum in confused bewilderment having exhausted all of the possible hiding options. "Not in the sink, not in the ice box, where oh where could my precious babe have gone?" Slowly she'd start to retreat back towards the main room. "I suppose that the hags and the banderhobbs took off with him for refusing his greens again. Such a pity. I truly am going to miss the little stinker. What ever shall I do?" 

He pounced! His little hands would land on her calf and he'd make a small roar. She'd jump with a feigned shriek that would delight him with laughter. She'd swoop down and scoop him up in her arms, lifting him high above her head and twirling him about until he was too dizzy to see. Then she'd set him down and tickle him half to death. He'd squirm and wiggle and contort trying to escape her to no avail. She'd laugh too, often she'd keep laughing till she stopped making noise and only then would she let him go. He'd have a thick river of tears to stain his cheeks and deep into his tunic. He'd push his mother away and battle to get to his feet. He couldn't take two steps before she'd snatch him right back up again and the game would begin anew. 

"Oh! Mommy has the baby!" A man would cry from behind them. He'd dive down and catch his mother in his arms, pulling her in close and nuzzling into her neck. She'd jerk away from her distressed son and melt in the arms of her lover, not once did her laughter ever waver. The man would tangle his fingers with hers and hold her arms away so she couldn't move. "Get her! Get Mommy! Get her back!" He'd tell Sylnan who would waste no time doing exactly that. The three of them would romp and play like that for sometimes up to an hour before their sides began to hurt and the skies began to darken. 

His mother would pay him on the head, rustling his hair a bit before heading off to fetch something. The man would kneel down and shuffle about in his tattered old satchel. He'd pull from it's messy contents another whittled creature. The very last one he got was a cat, stubby, pudgy, and fat, and happy as a clown, sloppily painted orange with brown stripes. Sylnan would admire the new toy with love before taking the man's hand in his and eagerly leading him over to show him what he'd painted in the blanket fort he and his mother had made. The man would grunt as he climbed under the flaps and folds of the expensive cloth, too big to fit but trying all the same just to see the smile it put on Sylnan's face. The two would sit in the small sanctuary and talk. At least they'd try. Sylnan knew very little elvish and less common and still he'd try, stitching together sentences made of both with words too big for him that he didn't know the meaning of. It always made the man laugh. 

"You're just like your mother, you know that?"

He'd smile at the complement. He hoped he'd be just like his mom. She was graceful and loving and sweet. The man would pull him close and place a kiss to his head.

"Thank the gods," he'd sigh under his breath. Sylnan would pretend he didn't hear it. A door would open and close indicating the return of his mother. The man would glance over his shoulder and struggle to see past the blankets. He'd turn his attention back to the toddler.

"Hey. I've got a job for the one and only Nanlys, is he around?" 

Sylnan would sit up and put in his toughest face to show that Nanlys was indeed around and ready to get to work. The man would chuckle at the sight.

"Good, good. I need you, to go hide this somewhere mommy will find it, but not too quickly, ok?" And he'd hand him a simple bracelet with a small, crude heart carved out of what looked to be a gold piece. Sylnan, sorry, Nanlys would then scramble to his feet and rush to do as told. The man would meet his mother in the hallway and the two would talk for a while. Sylnan liked to listen. He could never quite make out what they said, and the few times he did, but the words were too big and too fast, he didn't know what they meant. He'd forgotten them now. He'd forgotten their voices. He missed them. 

They'd eat together, rarely at the table. It was sacreligious for them to ever eat in the sitting room but every time the man was over that's exactly where they wound up. Eventually it would grow dark, the night would grow cold, and the man would carry Sylnan to bed. He'd tell him a quick story to lull him to sleep. There were many stories. His favorite one was the one about the magic toad that would take those who held it away to a place where they would find happiness in places they wouldn't have expected but needed most. He'd memorized that one, word for word, beat for beat. He'd fall asleep not long after the story was through.

He got sick one night, some one had left with window open and the cold wormed it's way into room. It took from him his ability to sleep, replacing it with a high fever, aches and pains, and a headache from the ninth realm of hell. He woke up in pain, crying out softly. He bunched up his blanket and held it close, clutching his little red car right in his sweaty little fist and do his best to keep from crying. He never could. 

Usually when he fell ill he'd go to his mother, climb into the vast sea of blankets she swam in and sleep in the crook of her knees. He couldn't move that night, not really. He'd try and his muscle would lock, too cold to stretch out completely, too fridgid to put any weight on. So he lay there, weeping silently to himself willing the agony away. He listened to the world around him, unable to do much else. He heard squeaking, or perhaps creaking, he didn't know, he couldn't tell, but it sounded like funny animals were running amuck a few rooms over. That thought made him laugh. He tried to picture his pudgy cat and the stiff horse moving about on their hind legs, like people, moving about inside the house clumsily. Before long he'd fall back asleep. 

The morning would come around again and the man would be gone. His mother would look sad, and a little lost. She'd drape herself across her fainting chair and she wouldn't move for hours at a time. Not until there came a knock at the door. 

There was always someone knocking on the door. He would run and hide behind the harp while his mother lazily pulled herself to her feet, closing her robe about herself with a huff. She would mumble about how she hated how often he called for her. How he wasn't even that good. Repetitive and boring, she'd gripe. Sylnan never understood what she was going on about but he pouted in solidarity and that always managed to make her smile a little bit. She'd open the door and glare at the guards who'd been sent to fetch her. The gentleman with the wavy brown hair knelt down and offered a warm smile towards the cowering boy.

"Good morrow, little prince!" He called. Sylnan never understood why his mother would turn away from him in shame after every time he got called such a name, nor did he understand why the second guard would clear his throat expectantly. Like the two of them were keeping a secret that was supposed to be obvious. 

"What say you and I take a walk don't to the fountain? Does that sound nice?"

He'd nodd and scamper off to fetch his shoes. As he did he could hear the harsh whisper of his mother snap. "He knew what I was when he married me." 

He'd only be able to catch bits and pieces of the same old argument his mother and the first guard would engage in. Eventually his mother would grow irritated enough to start cursing in elvish. It's a poetic language, the syllables have a tendency to roll off of the speakers tongue like silk, save for of course, their swear words, which sounded hurtful and sharp though loosely translated all his mother ever said was "And to think a sow such as your mother could produce a headless turd for a son" it was a common idiom, Sylnan knew that much but hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. He just knew that when his mom got shrill like that it was best to leave her alone. 

The guard with the wavy brown hair would collect Sylnan in his arms and scamper out the door as if the shouting had been intended for him. Truth be told, his mother was fond of the guard with wavy brown hair. He worked well with the children under his care and kept his manners about himself regardless of whose company he kept. They'd be gone and away from the potential fight before either of the two could realize. 

"Now then, little prince, what troubles should we get ourselves into this time?" He'd ask, slowing to set the child down on the ground. Sylnan had a plethora of answers, most still babble and mindless but he liked to think he'd said something important and funny and clever. The guard would nod safely, despite having no idea what "abi a dee" meant. Sometimes it meant "a bad idea," sometimes it meant "going bye bye," other times it meant "going to bite you," and most of the times it didn't mean anything at all. it really just depends on what kind of mood Sylnan was in. 

The two would walk down to the fountain where Sylnan would terrorize the fish doomed to swim in its bottom basin for all eternity. He never hurt them, never tried to grab at them or touch them. Quite the opposite. He hated their slimy scales and would shriek if one got to close. When the fish ignored his protests he'd start hailing them with the cool new bad words he'd just heard mommy say and the guard would rush over to try and mediate the situation. Which, as you could imagine, is not an easy thing to do because fish don't talk and children don't listen. 

"Sylnan we shouldn't call the fish a bitch just because it got near you! You're the one in his home!" He'd argue. Unfortunately, this was a sentence he had to say quite often to the three year old. 

"It's abi a dee!" Sylnan would scream back.

"No we shouldn't bite the fish either!"

The guard would pull Sylnan away from the water, earning a very angry growl for doing so. He'd twist and writhe about to try and get out of the guards arms and when that didn't work, he went completely limp. Someone had to teach that fucking fish a lesson! He was disgusted by the lack of justice in the world! And he was too small to do anything about it. He'd sit with the guard until he forgot why he was even mad in the first place. He'd toss the guards arms away and skip back to the fountain and the cycle would begin anew. 

They'd stay by the fountain for ages at a time. Eventually the guard would take Sylnan by the hand and the two would walk through the gardens on their way back to his mother's chambers. The guard would stop and stoop down low to point out every single last butterfly or blooming flower. He'd take the time to tell Sylnan exactly what the species was, almost forgetting the fact that this kid would forget the "t" in shut and replace it with a "y" instead. Sylnan. Remembered none of the names of things, and would birthed the absolute life out of them trying to repeat it back to his occasional caretaker, who would laugh and add the baby babble in a small book he kept with him filled cover to cover with the strange names kids gave the life around them. Sylnan had called the monarch butterfly the mop-fart butterfly some few weeks ago and he'd sometimes wake up at night laughing about it still. Now whenever one passed by, Sylnan would point excitedly and shout "Mop-fart!" For all the other nobles to hear. The guard would be too busy laughing to correct him. So they remained to be the mop-fart butterflies.

Eventually the two would return to the all too familiar set of barracks kept separate from all the rest and Sylnan would be escorted back inside. His mother would be seated at the table, nursing a cup of steaming tea. The boy would forget the guard and dash to her side to tell her all about his day with the horrible fish and the butterflies he saw. She'd pretend to listen, not at all able to keep up with his stammering or his garbled mix of gibberish, elvish, and common. She'd comb his hair, fix him a meal, plop him in the bath, and send him off to bed. 

He remembered getting scared when she got sick shortly there after. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't get out of bed, for a few weeks Sylnan was left to fend for himself and fight to help his mother with what limited resources he had. For days on end he ate only a paste he'd made out of some strawberries, sugar, and water, smeared on thin slices of crudely cut bread. He would carry plates of it to his other along with a glass of water. He'd take back with him the plate she didn't eat the day before and another empty glass. He didn't know what to do. He wanted ever so badly to run and get help but he was unable to reach either the lock or the door handle. He was unable to fetch the guard with the wavy brown hair or his ill-tempered companion. He was caged in his home, helpless and predominantly alone. He used to climb into bed besides her, snuggling up close and wishing for whatever it was that had her so sick would just go away. He'd pass the nights by reciting the stories the man told him. Sometimes she'd wake up, and she'd let him know that she still loves him by running soothing circles along his back. She'd be asleep again before he could finish the story. 

He couldn't recall a time where he'd been so happy to see a man clamber in through the window before in his life or ever again afterwards. The nice man was home once more, bearing his usual gift of a toy and a new story. But Sylnan could care less for both. He grabbed the man's hand and ran back to his mother's room, just happy that there was someone else there to help at last. 

He remembered sitting in the room next over, doing his best to ease his worries away with the help of the little wooden cat and horse. He could just faintly hear their murmured conversation through the wall. 

"You'll have to promise me something," his mother said.

"Oh course, my love, anything."

"Alwyn, do right by them."

There was less laughter this visit. They hardly spoke. The man didn't come tuck him in or recite another story. Sylnan wasn't the brightest star in the sky but he knew that something bad was looking, he could read it in the worry wrinkling his mother's face, in the signs that escaped the man. He could feel it in the air. 

The smell of mold ran wild about his nose. With it came the harsh chill of the sewers. Sylnan clung tight on to Jaquot, hissing in pain with every other step he took. The taste of blood still smothered his tongue and it seemed that no amount of spitting could wash it all out. He yelped a bit when he put too much weight down on his ankle, earning a mumbled, "Sorry, I'm sorry," from Jaquot. 

"What in the name of the gods happened?" Ugarth barked, rushing over to the boys quickly. He took Sylnan from Jaquot and eased him onto the floor. He feverishly began looking for any signs of immediate, life threatening injuries. He held a hand a few inches away from Sylnan's face.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"Good, follow this one with your eyes don't move your head- don't move your head! There you go." Ugarth took note of the bruise developing on his chin and the alarming swell of the kid's ankle bent in a way it shouldn't be. "Did you bite your tongue? Why do you have blood around your mouth? Did you lose a tooth? Open, say ah." Sylnan pushed Ugarth's hand away.

His heart had yet to steady inside of his chest. Bile was climbing it's way up his throat, he could just take it. Ugarth was too close, there was too much noise, he couldn't breathe! He tried to get away, to give himself the space he needed but the cold stonewall held him firmly in place, pinned like a bug in a museum. There was a deafening throb in the back of his head, behind his eyes, between his ears. He could hear one of the two say something but he couldn't make out what exactly. Ugarth placed a hand on his elbow to steady him and that was the tipping point. 

"What the fuck?" Be shouted, shoving Ugarth away with all his might. His chest was tight, too tight, it burned almost. The ringing had grown too loud to bear and he covered his ears in a desperate attempt to block it out. It didn't work. "What the fuck?!" He screamed. 

"Sylnan, you're ok just relax-"

"Don't tell me what to fucking do right now! What the absolute fuck, Ugarth?! Great fucking house. I-I'm so glad you forgot to mention the owner of it is a fucking psychopath! What the fuck!"

"He was home? He shouldn't be home yet it's too early! Jaquot you didn't see him?"

Jaquot was unable to summon any words to his aid, not that it mattered any as Ugarth didn't exactly care for an answer and Sylnan wasn't done shouting.

"Good job with the 'many exits', I counted two. The fucking windows don't open!"

"They do! They did! I saw them...a week ago I saw them…" he thought back on it and was alarmed to find the memories muffled and gone. There was a woman in the place of the man, just as old and just as gnarly to look at, but he wasn't so sure if she was real or something his mind had made up. Perhaps he'd gotten this house confused with another. No that couldn't have been it because he distinctly remembered this one. He'd circled it for days! 

"Breathe! Hey, hey, look at me-"

"Stop telling me to breathe!"

Ugarth wrestled one of Sylnan's flailing hands down to his side. He wasn't at all surprised to find that the kid hated that and fought back all the harder. He took a few blows. He didn't even try to dodge them. He watched the mess of his friend struggling against him with tears swelling in his eyes and squeaking while he gasped for air. He didn't let go. Not until Sylnan's thrashing stilled and he was left holding the kid's trembling form as he went loudly. 

"He knew my name." 

Ugarth's blood ran cold. His mouth ran dry, so dry that it hurt to swallow. An everlasting bitterness clung to the tip of his tongue as he raked his brain for something to say, anything. A word of comfort, an apology, just something. He couldn't think of anything. The only thing he could do was let the kid cry into his shoulder. 

He remembered how the three of them used to sit down at the table together some time after that frightening day. His mother would have a small stitch she'd be working on, usually depicting eagles or wildflowers. The man would be polishing his boots. He was between them keeping himself busy by carefully untying the shoelaces on the man's other boot and retying them however he saw fit until they were nothing more than a horrific knot. 

"Alwyn Jr." The man said for the fifth time. His mother would giggle and shake her head.

"No way!"

"We could call him AJ to keep from getting confused."

"It's not happening."

"What of our legacy, my love?"

"Oh what legacy? My dreadful little land pirate, do you wish to doom the boy to follow in your shoes?"

The man made a face, looking down at the boot in his hand and smiling, only to lose the smile all together when he noticed just what it was that had kept the boy so quiet all this time. He chuckled, rustling Sylnan's hair lightly.

"They aren't so bad."

"I'm not naming him Alwyn Jr. And that's that." 

"Ah, if you insist. Truly is a shame though. Has a lovely ring to it. Alwyn Jr. You like it, don't you, Sylnan?"

He didn't know what they were talking about but he was thrilled to be included. He nodded frantically, frowning when he pulled his hand away from his work just to be stopped short having tied it into the mess as well. Uh oh. 

"I like Brendan."

"Brendan? It's so...bland. Brendan." 

"Listen here, sir," she teased, setting down her stitching to catch his chin in her cold hands. His face would turn beet red. She'd place a careful kiss to the side of his lips, pulling back to boop the tip of his nose with a boney finger. "I am not, nor will I ever, name one of your spawns Alwyn Jr. Besides, what if it's a girl?"

"Well whoever they decide to be, I hope they aren't as stubborn as you."

"Oh, you're one to talk! Sylnan are you hearing this? Absolutely maddening, this man!"

"He's on my side, what are you talking about. You are on my side aren't you, kiddo?"

Sylnan pried his fingers free with a wild smile and held his hands up for both to see, not at all paying attention to the conversation at hand but thrilled to be the center of their attention. He remembered how they laughed, how his mother planted a noisy kiss to his chubby cheeks and how the man gave his shoulder a slight squeeze. The memory, however sweet, and however faded, still played over and over again in the back of his head. He let himself get lost in it, hoping to ignore the wretched ordeal he'd been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting more reads than I ever thought it would so I just wanted to take the time and say thanks to all of you. Sorry this one is so long with so little action. That's probably not going to change. Anyway the goal I have for this is to finish it before the 2nd of June. We're only 3/5ths the way done with the story though. Thanks for sticking through it this far <3 anyway, trouble ahead toodaloo


	17. Chapter 17: and the author

She did not want to wake up. Not at first. She heard her father's gentle, rhythmic knock on the door and rolled over with a groan. Her head was splitting in half. She could only imagine the agony she'd be in if she had to deal with it as well as their substitute teacher's horrible shrill voice again. Begrudgingly she dragged herself out of the comforts of her bed, missing the warmth her blanket had granted her mere moments ago and cursing the shock of the cold wooden floor boards beneath her bare feet. She trodd over to her desk, grinning at the flower that still stood up right and full of color. It almost made her forget how much she hated the school uniform hanging up besides it. 

Kathrine was quick with her morning routine. She moved faster than normal, perhaps because she had let her body follow through with the expected motions while her mind drifted away, or perhaps because she dreaded it so very much that she wanted nothing more than to be done with it. Maybe both, she didn't know. She only slowed when she spotted her father hunched over the table, his eyes shut tight, hand clenched on to his shirt where his heart hid behind. 

"Papa, you feeling alright?"

"Just peachy, honey bun, don't you worry that little head of yours about it. Just uh...catching my breath." 

She didn't believe him. She could see right through his lies. She set her school bag down and took up the oven mitts to save the burning bread. "Perhaps I ought to stay home today then."

"No, love. I know that school doesn't teach the most important lessons, but a girl's gotta be well read in order to fix that." He smiled at her. He looked sad. Remorseful even. "I knew from the moment I first saw you that the world had big plans for you. Gotta get you ready for that. Go learn. Cause some hell. Make me proud, Honeybun." He handed her a fresh roll for breakfast. 

There are moments in life that at first glance don't mean much. Not really. A simple conversation lasting not more than maybe 6 seconds is an easy thing to forget. There will be others just as there have always been more before. Kathrine took the roll into her hands with a small wave good bye. It was routine. It was what they did. Practically tradition. He smiled after her, watching through the window as she disappeared around the bend at the end of the street.

Silly moments, they are sometimes, nothing spectacular or glamorous. Its alarming how sometimes the most mundane things then can become the most important later on. Had they'd only known that this morning would be the last that either ever saw of one another again, would they have done things differently? Would the Baker have held his daughter a little closer for a little longer? Would Kathrine have stayed home instead? Would they have hung up the oven mitts, put away the dough, and spend the few next hours together in silence, reminiscing on the good times and making promises to one another that likely neither would be able to keep at first? What words would the Baker have said instead? Would he pass on some important wisdom, or assure her that everything would be alright in the end? What would she have said different? Perhaps both would have said their last "I love you." Wouldn't that have been nice? 

They didn't. Their shared last goodbye was the very same as their first. Sometimes that's just the way things go. 

It's common in literature for symbolic events to occur just as ruin or tragedy is about to strike at a hero. Perhaps it'll start to rain, or maybe some reoccuring imagery would blink back into the paragraphs carefully woven that would warn the reader of what lays up ahead. The day was gorgeous. There was little wind, hardly a cloud in the sky, and the sun was already out and about as the year progressed it had a habit of showing itself earlier and earlier. The birds were alive with their songs, the windchimes sang along. It was almost a picture perfect beginning to a light hearted coming of age story you might find airing in modern theaters where the main characters find one another only after finding themselves. 

Kathrine watched the ever long stretch of her own shadow march on ahead of her. She focused on it instead of Delighla. Not one word spoken by the other girl ever once made it past her ears to work their way into her head. Not because she didn't care, truth be told she really didn't, but because her own thoughts were a muddled mess that she was struggling to organize and sort through. And if she were to be quite Frank with herself, Delighla's silly plights about how the Judis boy had taken her hand and kissed her sweetly upon her cheek just to go and do the same to Miraim perhaps an hour later wasn't exactly an enthralling story to listen to. 

She focused instead on the turmoil of the powers slowly blossoming to life within herself. She'd plundered the library for its books on magic only to be informed that a small child had previously gotten to it before her, taking with him the books she needed most. She was left with a gnomish dictionary and the complete works of known wizards, warlocks, sorcerers, and mages by Hermangib Hobblespottled GrabbleSnoots. She read countless tales about the wizards who came upon their gifts through the light of ancient runes or through the cursed blood that ran within their veins. Kathrine was discouraged by this. Colleges, scribes, sacred texts, blood borne gifts, she had none of this and her talents were none like the documented proofs of other well gifted magic users. Her mother had been a simple woman, her father was no different. Mages could light fires with their fingertips, charm men into violent cats with a simple incantation, revive the fallen with a diamond and the guiding hands of a god. None could see through the eyes of those in front of them without warning or some sort of cost. It wasn't driidic, it wasn't necromantic, there was no label to slap on what she could do and that troubled her more than she could say. She'd worn herself ragged staying up late trying to identify just what it was exactly that she was. 

"Then, as if the matter at hand wasn't enough, he starts weaving daisies into her braid!" 

"Is that so?" She asked numbly. Her headache had worsened in their walk. She did her best to put it behind her, to keep her attention instead on the pinch of her shoes against the back of her heel. She was certain that they'd torn yet another hole into the last good pair of stockings she owned. 

A soft, faint, distant ticking began to chime in her head. It was untempered, with no real beat to it. Not completely. She felt something cold run along the length of her spine, digging deep into her flesh and working its way into her chest, settling like a stone in her stomach. She stopped dead in her tracks, starling Delighla. 

There was a distinct whisper floating past her though she did not recognize the language it was spoken in. She did however recognize it to be a threat, a warning perhaps, she didn't know. She sank her heels into the dirt and bit into her lip to keep the words out. For a second she could have sworn she caught the outline of a figure, impossibly tall and horrifically old, standing above her, haloed by a jagged crown of unblinking, ever searching eyes. They all snapped towards her. 

Instinct demanded she raise a gloved hand up and trace an ancient symbol above her head in the air. She yanked Delighla close so that the ward of protection would cover the wretched girl as well. Delighla was too startled to put up a fight. She stared wide eyed in wonder as a thin, golden globe began to etch it's way around them, blocking out the sunlight and banishing the horizon line away out of sight. Kathrine was trembling, her breathing unsteady and her heart was pounding. Her eyes fluttered about, scanning last her barrier to pinpoint where the fiend was in relation to them. 

"Kathrine?" Delighla squeaked. 

"Shh! He's still near." 

Was he? She didn't know. She refused to drop the spell until she was absolutely certain. 

The observer had caught only a glimpse of his target. The fledgling goddess had been identified, or so he told himself. He did his best to remember her, her clean skirt, her pristine hat, her lacy stocking, her long red hair, her freckles. He etched the image of the girl into his mind perhaps a fraction of a second before she and her stupid friend blinked out of his view. He was satisfied with that. He went on his way to hunt down the book he needed to give to Br'aad before the start of school. 

Kathrine didn't let up her barrier for what felt like ages. The panicked girl beside her was starting to get antsy. She squirmed about, unable to stand the silence that held the two captive. Admittedly, Kathrine wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to keep up her protection spell. She sighed softly and dropped it. All at once she and Delighla we're back in the Wharf, still fifteen minutes away from school. 

Delighla staggered away from Kathrine in horror. "You're magic?" For a second Kathrine thought the girl would curse at her or take off sprinting. She didn't. Delighla looked about, every bit as anxious as Kathrine. "Were we in danger?"

Kathrine was stunned. She honestly didn't think that Delighla was capable of picking up on her surroundings let alone come to understand the gravity of their past predicament. 

"Kathrine, were we?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Are we still?"

"I don't know." She didn't think he'd seen her. She hoped, as sometimes hope is all one can do, that he had moved on to continue his hunt elsewhere and this would be the last she'd see of him. Who ever, or rather whatever, he was. She tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ears and the two slowly returned to walking, this time in silence. 

Both remained ever anxious and overly vigilant throughout the day. Not once did Delighla leave her side. She was scared and while she didn't exactly understand what had happened, though she'd only caught the silhouette of the being that had urged Kathrine to cast her magic in the first place, she knew that she didn't trust for a second that they were safe and she wanted to stay close to the one person she knew who had the ability to offer them at least a glimmer of hope in surviving whatever that thing was. 

Their walk home was a cautious one. Kathrine had insisted that they didn't take their usual route home, just in case. And since Delighla was helpless against whatever they'd encountered earlier that morning was, she'd elected to walk her home, confident that she'd be able to handle herself for the remainder of her walk. Delighla watched Kathrine retreat from the safety of her bedroom. The two didn't say much in their departure. They didn't have to. They were worried for one another in equal parts. There was no string of words to voice their concerns. Kathrine accepted the doe eyed look Delighla gave as their unspoken "thank you" and "be safe" partings. 

Would she come to regret that too? Would she wish she had said something to the girl? These thoughts were away from her, as at the moment, she had no reason to. She believed firmly that she'd meet up with the red haired girl the next morning as always. 

Still Kathrine bobbed and weaved her way through town. There was very little in the wharf that warranted moments of awe and admiration. It startled Kathrine to discover that on her little detour she'd stumbled into a small oasis that would disagree with the previously made statement. The houses on all sides of her reached up towards the clouds with their pointed towers, catching the sunlight in their stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colored down upon the road, bedazzling those wandering this way or that. It was absolutely breath taking. She could only imagine how it would look if all the plants had bloomed fully, lush and green and vibrant. She slowed her pace, taking in the sights she passed, slowly forgetting about Delighla, the beast, and her father.

She stopped short in her tracks. It was faint, distant even, but she could have sworn she heard a familiar voice. A shy, stuttering l, and familiar voice. 

She spun about searching her surroundings for a glimpse of the one face she wouldn't mind seeing, the one person she could stand to be around for the time being. She saw nothing. Still his voice cut into her thoughts, growing louder. 

"...ver me home intact and alive is all that I ask of you." She heard those few words echo about though she couldn't pin point from where they originated from. Not exactly. She frantically turned until the words sounded a little louder a d tad bit clearer. They were gone before she could narrow her options down. She chose a street out of blind faith and took off running towards it. She turned sharply around a bend and continued ever onward until she came upon a house not quite like the others. This one, every bit as tall, was a dull, sun stained purple with tanned windows. The baluster was busted, it waved little white flags made up entirely out of cobwebs why the breeze. She caught the gleam of spattered blood along the black top, cracked stone road. Once more she could feel that horrid chill inch it's way along her spine. 

She heard the skies repeating the falling of frantic feet and ricocheting back to her the desperate screams and cries of a battle just barely won. She followed after the bleeding, desperate and pleading that for once, just once, it was her mind that was slowly slipping. She begged the gods that she'd find nothing at the end of this trail and she begged the gods that the voices she heard were from her sleepless night finally getting to her. 

She stumbled on to a rusted old sewer grate bent just so slightly, enough for someone of a small frame to fit through without much issue. The grate tore at her arms and legs and she squirmed through, taking with them scraps of the expensive fabric that made up her uniform. The darkness strucker her harder than she anticipated and as did the smell. Something was rotting, long ago relenting to the greedy, needy hands of the scavengers that scampered about. Up ahead she heard the muffled drone of a hiccuping sob. 

She stepped into the dull light clawing its way through the drain grate several feet away and came face to face with three boys. Two she recognized. They were on the ground in one another's arms, shaking. The third she didn't know was standing off to the side, looking uncomfortable and afraid. He spotted her first and was quick to draw his dagger. 

She ignored him, stepping over to the downed boys without issue. She brought a careful hand to rest on Sylnan's shoulder and in an instant saw and felt exactly what he'd been through in the few moments prior. Again she saw the beast with the many eyes, too worn to be anything human. She watched it toy with him the way a board house cat toys with a wounded mouse. Her heart raced with his, she shared his terror. A strange warmth eminanted from the palm of her hand. It washed over him faster than she thought it would and all at once he collapsed in on himself, becoming nothing more than dead weight in Ugarth's arms, asleep. 

"Where all is he hurt?"

"Who the fuck is she?" Jaquot demanded with a shrill cry. Ugarth dismissed his question with a wave of his hand. 

"A friend, don't worry. Ankle mostly," he answered. 

Kathrine rolled up her sleeves as best she could and placed a careful hand just above the swollen knot that used to be bone, tendons, and cartilage. It flung back into place with a blood curling snap. It was enough to make even Ugarth wince. The ankle was as good as new, bruised at most.

There was the ever sinking feeling of dread that hung heavy on her shoulders. The chill latched onto her spine had her to relinquish it's firm hold over her. Though it wasn't her it seemed to want any more. Her fingertips burned, simply being near him made every last fiber of her being jumpy. Her thoughts were rioting inside her head and she couldn't make out a single one. She pulled her hand away, glad to have been of at least some help and doubting how far that would get them in the end.

"It'll scar and he'll be sore for a bit but he'll be ok." 

Ugarth had questions, just about a thousand of them, he didn't dare ask a single one. He'd learned long ago that when you look a gift horse in the mouth you get bit. He thanked her and wondered how many more times he'd be caught in such a situation, in the sewers clinging into the limp body of his only friend. He hoped this would be the last time. Fuck, he prayed. They'd been lucky this time though he wasn't entirely sure how far that luck would go. Or if it really was luck. Sylnan lived, that was good, but the man knew his face, knew his name. In a place like this that's enough to get anyone killed. He was too young to have a target on his back. He wasn't sure now about how either of them would go about their usual work. He was wanted for a crime he never even commit and Sylnan was likely to be turned in to the guards. Neither would be able to show their faces in town for at least a few weeks. This day just kept getting better and better. 

"I need to get him home."

"What do you need?"

"I need it to be dark, I need empty streets, and I need faster feet."

There was a strange heat that pooled below the stone like weight in her gut. She felt it rise within herself, making her arms heavy and hot. She whispered something softly, none of those around her could hear. Ugarth found that the body in his arms weighed less than a bundle of carrots, a heavy overcast had quickly overtaken the skies. The hollow howl of thunder broke it's way through the clouds.

"I've done what I can." She got to her feet, helping Ugarth to his without jostling Sylnan too terribly much. The kid groaned and cracked an eye open. 

"Kathrine?"

She smiled warmly at him, hoping the worry that pinched her eyebrows so close together couldn't be perceived. There was a pain they carried with them, etched into the backs of their minds. Both knew the other wasn't supposed to be there, both knew that something was after them and couldn't stand the thought of putting the other in danger simply by being near them, and yet neither could stand the thought of leaving the other alone just yet. Ugarth and Jaquot be damned. 

"You're going to be ok," she promised. He believed her. 

Ob'nockshai was not a patient man, not really. He was patient with Br'aad, the child needed to grow into a few things first. Giving a six year old the ability to blast holes through walls could rip him to shreds. The chosen child was a project and Ob'nockshai had come to accept the fact that he'd have to wait until the boy was older, more capable. The irritating older brother was soon to be dealt with. He'd unleashed his hunting hound upon him. All he had left to worry about now was that pitiful fledgling goddess. 

The sudden accumulation of clouds was an encouraging sight for him. The girl was growing into her talents swimmingly, but she was still so clumsy. It would be a shame she'd never see what all she could do with those. With her face still burned into the back of his eyes he took to the streets once more. From the bottoms of his feet began to bleed a river of darkness, an inky black shadow riddled with bubbling masses of eyes, thousands upon thousands of eyes. They writhed about along the ground. 

"Find her." He ordered. All at once his shadow dispersed, branching out in every which way. They slithered along the curb, winding around the feet of passers by unaware of the doom lurking about. At last a small bunch found a small house wherein resided a small red headed girl who's just changed back into her home clothes, her uniform placed neatly in her laundry basin to be washed later. Bit by bit the other eyes rushed to catch back up to the one who'd found their prize. Ob'nockshai was not slow to follow. 

Delighla sat down at her desk to begin her homework, the stress and worries of the day slowly slipping from her memory. She gasped sharply when her shutters burst open, tossing the pages of her book all about her room. Ob'nockshai gave the girl a smile. His crooked, yellowing teeth were the last things she saw before she became nothing more than a chunky paint across her walls, floors, and ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck cops


	18. Chapter 18: a spark down the wire

The Baker's heart never was very strong. His years of drinking had at last caught up to him. You can try to outrun your past with all of your might but time is exponential. However far behind you've left your mistakes, they will always outrun you. His poor diet, the drinking, his temper, the stress, it had been an amazing heap upon his weary shoulders and at last he'd collapsed beneath their incredible weight. 

For many, death is a being to be feared. There are countless books, thousands of tales, millions of promises about where the soul goes after death. The high court of the gods is a busy one, swift and infinite, the Raven queen collects those read for the harvest and disperses them amongst the other patrons of the universe with never a sign of mercy or relent. The Baker, while hard headed and often disagreeable, had not been an unkind man. His love for his wife and his daughter was proof of that enough. It would be nice to think that perhaps the Raven Queen took pity upon him. And perhaps she did. Perhaps she cut his suffering short, or offered a word of kindness. If she did it didn't doesn't matter. She served him kindly enough by ensuring that whatever god lay claim over the last soul would not banish him to one of the nine realms of hell. That in itself was her greatest act of mercy. 

Kathrine walked with Ugarth and Sylnan and Jaquot towards the factory that sat predominantly alone at the top of the hill. The sudden storm had done what it could to keep the streets empty of all wanderers, save for those few unfortunate souls who had a ways to walk with no time to stop. Too busy with their own lives, they paid no mind to the quarter of children slowly trodding down the road. The longer the storm above remained, the more and more exhausted she became. Still she kept the spell aloft and put on her bravest face. 

Ugarth didn't know yet what to make of the girl. He didn't trust the fact that she just so happened to stumble upon them and he'd been taught from a young age to never trust a magic user. However the concern on her face in regards to the limping at his side was genuine. He didn't trust the girl, but Sylnan certainly did, and that was enough to persuade Ugarth onto her side as well. Still he kept his distance and waited for the slightest reason to consider her a threat to them all.

Jaquot waited outside while Ugarth and Kathrine saw to it that Sylnan made it in alright. After Ugarth had deemed her a friend he didn't think twice about this girl and assumed she was just another thief who'd happened upon them. The magic was certainly interesting but that was about all the thoughts he had on that. 

Br'aad had been upstairs. While he greatly disliked the size of the book he'd been ordered to read he disliked how pissed Sylnan got when he didn't do his homework more. Already he'd managed to suffer through four and a half if the assigned eight chapters although he'd retained none of what he'd read. He did like the fact that it was mostly about magic, but it was the dull kind, about spell components and sigils and the history behind them. He'd been too absorbed in his self made notes and his book to hear the three come in. He heard a slight clatter but assumed it was the rats and was happy to leave his thoughts at that. 

For the time being, Ugarth, Kathrine, and Sylnan were as alone as the three could get. Sylnan would glance up at Ugarth before turning away, almost ashamed. He was certainly embarrassed. He'd done well to ensure that if Br'aad got upset that it was ok for him to show it, to cry and shout. He never once told Br'aad that boys don't cry. They do. It was ok to feel sad and angry sometimes. Still it made him feel small and pitiful whenever he slipped and fell victim to his own emotions, especially in front of Ugarth. He was certain the half orc would laugh at him or at least scold him. He grew anxious with every passing second when he didn't. Perhaps he was just waiting for Kathrine to leave first. Hoping to avoid the conversation all together, he reached back into his pocket and pulled from it the six small rings.

"Never make me go back there," he begged before placing them all in Ugarth's hand.

Ugarth had forgotten, at this point, all about the intention to rob from the old man entirely. He expected at most a vase that they'd get nothing out of or maybe a decorative piece they could possibly try to pawn to some sucker but not something that could actually fetch a fair price. He looked down at the rings in his hand, admiring the gilded etchings along the edges and the tiny carvings of angels and eyes. He slowly looked back at Sylnan, impressed.

"I'll get you your cut as soon as I can," he promised, "Take care of yourself until then." And he left to join Jaquot back outside. 

The guild had much to say about the half elf boy, nothing good mind you. Typically they called him names and poked fun of his ears. Everyone had assumed the kid wasn't cut out for this life. He was too soft. Life behind castle walls had doomed him. They didn't seem to care about the conditions in which he lived when stuck in the orphanage. They assumed he'd be every bit as whiny and unskilled as Jaquot, who they were also wrong about for entirely different reasons, and doubted how long he'd last among them. It filled Ugarth with pride seeing just how wrong they were. They all laughed when he'd been saddled with the kid as a partner, they teased him relentlessly. Sylnan had done nothing but surprise Ugarth time and time again. He was skilled, resilient, determined, and dumb as all hell! The guild would have nothing to say now. Hardly ten and already better than most of them. 

He handed Jaquot the rings, "I can't be seen in public till this mess dies down. You're skilled with words and excellent at negotiating. Go fetch a good price for these."

"Where did you get them?"

"Sylnan snatched them back in the house. I'll meet you back by the farm."

Jaquot was dumb founded for a moment. No one in the guild had ever told him he was any good at anything. He was starting to think that perhaps Brendan had placed him with this pair of odd balls not because they were the youngest and most inexperienced, but because they were all exceptionally skilled and the only ones who could see that about one another. He slipped the rings safely away in his pocket and rushed to do as told. 

Kathrine helped Sylnan to a nearby bench, frowning at the lack of a couch and only now starting to realize that this wasn't at all a house. It was industrial for sure. The foyer was a narrow hallway, the first room on the right was about the size of a walkin closet and was filled with a single table. She assumed this was the main office. Or at least sort of one. Beyond it was the cafeteria of sorts, small and cramped, with low ceilings. This was the only room with a fireplace. The tables had been cleared out, the few that remained had been pushed up against a wall forgotten behind moth bitten covers. Adjacent to it was the kitchen that had all one might find in their own homes, there was a sink basin, some cupboards, a cabinet, an ice box, there was a solitary, beat up old stove. Dishes lay strewn about left out to dry or in need of a washing. She didn't see a single matching set and chuckled at the thought of this boy stealing dinner plates of all things. They weren't very well stocked as far as food went, most of it did consist of potatoes. She frowned at the small frog trapped under a cup left on the counter the boys had decided to use as their table. 

From there sprouted a pair of stairs, one went up the other down. She didn't go to either. She helped Sylnan take a seat at the table and began to search the ice box for something to press against the ankle. A slight sprain is a thousand times better than a full on break but could still sting. She frowned at the collection of lumpy ice and scraps of unidentifiable meat. She grabbed the smallest chunk she could find.

"This'll help the pain," she instructed. Sylnan just stared at it not at all sure what it was she wanted him to do with the small bit of rabbit. 

"Uh-"

She moved it quickly to his ankle and ignored the startled hiss he made. Well she tried to but she couldn't get past the fact that he did, in fact, hiss at her, like some sort of feral cat. He stopped when he remembered who it was he was hissing at but he still hissed at her. 

He watched her as she tore apart the covers hiding the rotted tables, curious. "Why were you in the sewers?"

"I heard screaming."

"And you ran towards it?"

"I recognized who it was, I wanted to help."

Sylnan was quiet for a second, mulling over her answer in his head. He shut his eyes when his thoughts only got more tangled and again he asked, this time louder and a bit squeaky, "And you ran towards me?!"

"Friends help friends."

"Ok but you could have been hurt too!"

"No, I'm magic, I'd just magic the hurt away like I do with your ankle." 

Sylnan slowly lowered his eyes from her sunlit brown hair to his swollen ankle hidden beneath a frozen chunk of rabbit. His mouth remained open, struggling to find the voice he needed to get what he wanted to say out. "It still hurts though?"

"Yeah but it's not broken, now is it? You can at least walk on it a little? Your foot's not completely limp and backwards anymore too. You're welcome." 

Sylnan shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth. "Thank you," he said softly. He was still mad that the nice girl had decided to put herself in danger for his sake. He could think of so few people who'd do such a thing. And the reverb of his heartbeat caught in his cheeks cried louder than the absurdity of it all. He could do little else but stare at her. His thoughts were a tangled mess that would vanish every time he stole a small glimpse of her fleeting smile. It's strange how quickly an abandoned soul can latch onto the first and only other thing around that has ever offered even the slightest sliver of compassion. He shook the hopeless day dreams of having that smile a constant reoccurrence in his life away before he could give himself time to obsess. The few years in which he'd lived had taught him well the fact that eventually everyone leaves. It's best not to get too attached. Besides. She tolerated him at most. To expect, or even hope, for anything more to arise from this was like wishing a moth would become a butterfly. It simply wasn't meant to be and he knew better than to try. 

She really did have a wonderful smile though. 

"Is that too tight?" She asked, tucking the last bit of the moth bitten cloth in on itself. It wasn't her best work but she supposed it was better than nothing at all. She smiled softly at him when he shook his head. 

Br'aad had, at that time, heard the soft murmuring from the floor below him. He sighed, that kful for the small break. He left his book wide open and scampered down the stairs to greet his older brother, freezing half way down when he spotted the visitor. Not yet certain if she was friend or foe, he eyed her carefully, glancing about for a weapon should he need one. He watched as she got to her feet, patting Sylnan gently on the back.

"I suppose this means you were unable to snatch up any dinner for yourself tonight then?"

"We can manage with what we've got."

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should. I'll see if I can snuggle back a fresh bite for you to eat."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Tough shit, I'm going to. What are you going to do to stop me, Mr. Busted Leg? That's what I thought. Keep it elevated, ice it for twenty minutes at a time with twenty minutes breaks between."

"Thank you. For everything."

"You've no need to thank me."

"Please let me anyway?"

He caught the cuff of her sleeve gently, so that she could easily pull away if she wanted. She didn't. He reached k to his no longer sandy pocket and pulled from it the thin golden chain and placed it gently in her cupped hand.

"It's not much, I know..." It was everything to her. "Please never put yourself in harm's way for my sake ever again. I don't have many friends. I would hate to lose you." 

She stood frozen for a second. The boys she knew, Judis, Micheal, Aster, the others, the most kindness they'd ever demonstrated to her was always with the expectation that she'd fall head over heels in love with them, worship the very ground they walked upon just as Delighla and Miriam had. Every flower came with a price she wasn't at all willing to pay. The most they'd ever extended towards her was a box of sweets. Sylnan expected absolutely nothing to come of their arrangement. He very much doubted her fondness of him. He was certain her kindness was simply pity. Still he pleaded for her safety and offered her the golden chain despite being too poor to afford bread. 

"I'll be back," she promised, leaving shortly after. She stood on their doorstep and marveled at the gift a second more before hastily securing it about her neck. It was cold against her collar bone. She loved it. 

This moment would be the last happiest moment she'd have for the remainder of the month. Silly isn't it? How something as simple as the request to stay alive and a gift given can ignite so much joy? And how quickly that joy can be taken away?

She found her father at the bottom of the stairs, where he'd been for the better part of the day. Her neighbors simply though he'd taken a day off at last. None of them had gone to check in on him. The Baker was a brilliant man, strong and hard headed, never one who took well to pity or help. None of their neighbors batted an eye when his store remained closed all throughout the day. 

She took little solace hearing over and over again how at least he was with his wife once more. For some reason she doubted that very much.

She sat in the cold cemetery atop a matter old picnic blanket that hadn't seen the sun since her mother had been around. The soil beneath her was still soft from having been tossed about so recently. It sank beneath her weight. Sylnan sat besides her, humming a tune softly to himself while keeping his hands busy with a delicate tangle of wild lions and grass, grimacing at the Currier beetles that crepted near him. She had gone to him upon discovering her father, unable to bring herself to sleep alone in that house that night. He'd offered her as much comfort as he could, burning what little firewood they had left, offering her blankets and food. Neither of them slept. He'd offer to stay by her side all throughout the funeral, and had done just that. She thought he'd laugh at her for being unable to tear herself away from the graveyard spot that swallowed her father. 

Together they found sanctuary in their shared solitude, taking sanctuary in the quiet stillness of the hollow grounds. She found it oddly refreshing to have someone to share the more vulnerable parts of her grief with. And lost to a sea of pine needles, tall grasses, and wild flowers they sat wishing the hands of time unwind to give them one last goodbye now that they both knew how they never got the chance. They mounted together. 

Slowly she managed to bring herself to go back to school. The street began to smell once more of cinnamon and fresh baked bread. She heard it over and over again as she worked. The girl was every bit as iron fisted and strong willed as her father. She let the words seep into her, wearing them with pride. The two had fallen into a sort of song and dance together. She would bake and prepare for the day and study when she had the chance, putting herself through school as both if her parents had done before her, hoping against all hope that she'd make them proud. He'd disappear off with Ugarth and Jaquot and a new boy named Tristan to pick pockets and rob houses. They'd meet one another after their shared work was done just outside the window of her bakery. She wouldn't bother wiping the flour from her forehead. She'd forget her apron. The two would head in down to the graves and sit until the sun itself fell asleep and the sky gave the stars their much needed spot light. 

It wasn't often he brought Br'aad along. She always loved it when he did. The smaller child didn't seem to understand the meaning behind their sorrow, the ones he'd lost had left him long before he could so much as memorize the shape of their face. Death was no stranger to him and the boy brought a strange sort of playfulness to their visits. She watched the child chase about the ladybugs and the grasshoppers envying the innocence he kept about himself. She flinched when something soft fell about the top of her head. Sylnan had finished yet another flower crown. He looked proud. He admired his handiwork sat atop her head with the kindest eyes she'd ever seen on another living being. These were days she spent mostly sad and yet whenever she was with him she found no such sorrow to shackel her.

"Br'aad! What did you just eat? What's in your mouth? Br'aad what's in your fucking mouth?!" He shouted, jumping to his feet before Kathrine's thoughts could register the movement. 

The small blond bounded over with the biggest eyes he could muster carrying with him an aura of absolute terror. He hummed frantically at Sylnan, keeping his cheeks puffed out and refusing to open his mouth despite his brother's loud demands. 

"Open your mouth! Open your mouth! Br'aad, so help me, I will smack you, open your mouth! Br'aad!" 

Begrudgingly, Br'aad obeyed. Kathrine and Sylnan watched in stunned silence as a very confused and wet bee stumbled out. Kathrine watched the gears in Sylnan's head turn and churn as he bit back a lengthy scolding. Br'aad seemed content and slipped off to go and do it again, having learned nothing. Sylnan collapsed back down in the dirt with a groan. 

Kathrine suddenly understood. And not in the way that she did when she usually looked at people wanting to know their thoughts. She saw no carousel of memories, no sudden flash of images she could just barely discern apart from one another, nothing. She just looked at him and knew that they were a pair of kids forced to grow up far too fast taking comfort in having finally found someone else who understands. She smiled at him, biting back another fit of tears, succeeding this time, and placed her hand on his. For a second she had a glimpse of an image, not a memory, but the future, a glimpse of what she dared call home. It moved through her mind as a debt riddled lullaby, and she watched it pass her by with the sinking feeling that she'd caught sight of a life she was never meant to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I wanted to complete this by the second, but uh, that's not going to end up happening. Ah well. 
> 
> I beg of you all to keep yourselves safe, with the riots and all that people seem to have forgotten about the fact that we're all still fighting a global pandemic. If you're sent to the hospital for any reason please consider yourself in a 14 day quarantine. Take care of yourselves  
> Thank you


End file.
